
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

©]|3p,'P23iop5rig]^ f n. 

Shelf S 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



, .—a; 


A 






*- >■* 


.T^w > r. 


< . ^ •k’-^ 


'v- 




ry< 


^.•t < *- 

• %% ' ' 


»i 


' 4 V •• 


' • • 


H..» 




Ilf ■ A 


t 

. . • r ■ 



.«»' ■ 


p* '’-v 
■ 

■* . 
... ^ 

W * '- 

• 


. '. 1 . 


I . 

0 


^ •. 


*« 


-*J ■ V 

■•- ^ . ' ’,■0- •■ 

^•.v-- >- •';. 

, ^ . • # 

sf^S 

0 

" *• 


* . .V\^ * "*“ -* . • •% ^ -w/. '• . 1 

- • • • 't:* ; •*-//‘^^ /-A : iiJJr ,*. 

»/. . V .*■ r^v ^ '.' ' • 


I ^ 

» 

A ■•. ■ ^ 


■ *» 

0< 






-v 4 ;-'v^ 

^ * UfS 


- I - - -• ^ 

•.-'. > 1 ' %.- '/ ' -'-X' ' 

'' J^.M 




.>v 
•X 


'i**' 


v...M^. 

_ *"•' f 


- . * . '# 
J f 


-0 *.*,- 




» « 




^i. u * 




d 

'/ % 


-, • ’ ..v''. \ '.. 

* - - ., -C'. N 

-'.i •'••> • A’ ' •• 


7 


- V.; M.* 



r 

> 


' -■' <i' • 


^ s 


< ^ .. 


■- -r$ ’ "'ei 

w 


/’ 

» • 


• « 




. *• 


- 


*/ • 




y 


• c’ 


.'•• 4 .- 


•• V-.. ^•;/: 

f'. ' ■ ■ -^ --i ■ 'A V >t' 

> - ^7 « . >’ O* ^ '■p» 

, " y -■• ; .Trii 


♦ V ^ '■ i 



I ^ V 


# » 


.- « — • .•v.-‘ - •> ••-•^ " I' -^v,- 


' ■ ■■ -sV ■ ^ V ■'■* " 

■■*'■■''* -'V • ' ■• •■ '’ ‘‘i.?* & 

^ * ** « -_^ t. * • / , *• . ^ 

• ■ -vv.. T./ . - :<* ■>< 

■• • *• c- .^ . '*V^ '''-{'* 

- r ■ • . — ‘ . \ ' 

' •. . *i ^ ' c ' ■ - — .. f ^ -■ C - ^-'-V' 




PL>^. ^ 


'• . - -> . • "■> -j.-' ^ •■ 

" • -T- *-■'''. X" * ■ />. f'', :' '^'Vt 

-'■ ^ • 'y \^' ' S — 

^ -*- . • i. -• . ^ v.% V V* -tse 


s*- -. 


• *0 > 

i 




u 


. • ■«■♦-. — 


V ' ^ 


^ r. s. 







‘A 


'N 


# 

% 


I 


\V 


- ■ '^^'4 ;-': ' C 


. , / - ;,.^5 ^ : > 

- ' - -i . • % w ' 

" -^ ^' > L > •. . ^ 


.. ^ 




* >“/ 


* 'V 




«V . 


•I A 


.-Ik 


— : ''• > ‘ ‘ t- '«'• -£^‘ •.‘•j*^ 

' y '“- ■' . *v‘ ' A 

_ i ■ ■ . *■ ^ ^ t 0^1 \ I 

-/■ '• ■ '• -. 

' f* ^ ’ * * > J . ' ^.'7 ' « ’» ] 

■ X-' V "‘-V'-V 

- • . ' • < >.7 : > ’ 


> / 


" *• * ■ -r‘ ’ 

•' ^-s • t *.^- 

\ ' - '* >' 




r ^ 




- •■.' 


X>', ' i 

« *^'1 



V ' 

> V 


■' :- ■.." :< ■; • .- --. ^' . ■ 


•^ ■ 








.c .» 


^ ' 
• -r 


•. 


^ 


■ ■' ^ -'-M 


HR B 'I. t r "■ . ' : » - ^ -kv ' -V- a’ • - *. •{ . ; Aw.., -i 


'•r. 



■ »•.. * •« *w J < .*^Va. ’i_ r .A »- J / . . • ’^ -. _ J.JV ‘-:- <" 



.. ■ V4''"‘ A'-. 

>^; :• •^■'. : ■•v.ii-,^"v, •vC^^ a:._. 

^ >4 t . * • V '. 

:"T ■^, '•*■*'- ' . 

• -' i »'•... ^ f ' /,*•**■. 

' . . - •■' r; ■ •'■ ' =' 




• ^ 





■- _• 

* • 


'/ V 


A •' 


' - . , * * “ < \fr- y ». 

“' ' J * 4 ^--- (....- .^ 

• .'i •«— ^ -fl 


- K . ‘ ■ . *' 

' 

.Ax ••’f •■ ' ^i' -. •■><;■ . 

gdF.'-v'''. • ■/'r’i-,'.--’ -; ■ • ' ' 

. - ''j^ ■ • ' X ..• * 'v' 

. - -f,- ■ • ■•-■' ■' 

>< . . . . • w , W. ' V . « * »* 


-^/ • ",■ , 


''V y '• t > -V • V lu ' 

^ y. • * < '■ .• 

. L -X • ” 4 ■ • . 

V u -• ' * ■ 7 -« ■ ' •■• . , . 

'•• U a' .-L^'.’i: • ■-'B-'. .V ^ • N ' • , ' 

?^V’^'^r,'r-,;>' '; ■ >. _ -. .■•■ . • ‘■-. 

■' •iV^"'- '••' -<'• '’ '■ ''" 

,. ■"• 4 f , ' ‘,-v'.-’-.V> .. .^. ' ... -. ■ <x, x> 

V,' 'S-r :<’ •'•i','’ .V«~ ' .'. 


" • i •■ . • • . j.. ' • 



'jj %: 






4 ^ 




> , 






■' • - v 


-j " .* :’:••• • 

■» ^•» < . . C .■ . *. k * " 

‘ ■ • V.-, 

^^ .• ' - 

•;* '*. <S^- • f\' "-A ♦- * .-4 . - • ,v, ' . * "'v** , . • - , , . .#4uLjr^-. 

■ ■ • A- -:m: s'm- . 

V : ■ •,*' - :. ^ : A ..^ -. V... ■ :; ■ 

... • .'•'■• •; <■■•'■ - , '■ i . /•; “ 1 ’ • ’ '■ 

- 'ir. ' ;:,?u. v- 

.V :• ■ 4,' - r- 


V' A,';.. ■ 







FURONO AMATl 



FURONO AMATl 

Q^otnance 




MRS. L C. ELLSWORTH 

M 

AUTHOR OF “ A LITTLE WORLDLING,” ETC. 



UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY 

5 AND 7 East Sixteenth Street 


Chicago: 266 & 268 Wabash Ave. 



Copyright, 1892, by 

LOUISE C. ELLSWORTH 


[A// rights reserved] 


3n (QtmortAtn 

In recollection of a summer’s day, 

When wind and wave united in a song, 

And, aided by a violin’s sweet lay. 

Lifted my soul beyond the idle throng. 

They sang of love, its rapture and its pain; 
They sang of passion and its vain regret. 

Into these pages came the tender strain. 

And here within, the echo lingers yet. 

An artist’s masterpiece ; a woman’s soul ; 
Amati both, and they were loved, too well ; 

And both too fine for unskilled hand’s control, 
Such is the tale it was my task to tell. 


I ^ 









4 


li 


I 





FURONO AMATI. 


I. 

The air is quivering with heat, for the sun beats 
down with relentless fierceness upon the asphalt 
pathways, the dried-up fountain and the seared 
foliage of Madison Square. 

Here and there little heaps of curled-up leaves, 
brown and brittle, have been swept against the 
margins of the lawns, and among them, close to a 
bench, is curled up a little heap of humanity, 
brown as the leaves, and well-nigh as crumpled 
and forlorn of aspect as the piles of dusty foliage 
around him. 

He is fast asleep. His glossy black head, from 
which the remnants of an old felt hat have dropped 


8 


FURONO AM ATI. 


away, rests upon the hard side of a boot-blacking 
kit, while the straight classic lines of his face — 
infantile, but full of character — are protected from 
the scorching sun by the shade of the bench near 
which he has sought shelter. 

As closely as his fears of the ubiquitous “ cop ” 
would permit, he has crept to the edge of the soft 
lawn, admonished by the sign-posts, which — he 
has just sufficient knowledge of English to under- 
stand — warn him to “ keep off the grass.” 

Even in his slumber, his young face, with its 
creamy complexion stained a deep yellow by the 
golden sunshine of fair Italy, wears a frown of 
discontent, and the pomegranater-ed lips, curved 
like cupid’s bow, are drawn into a pout, half of 
anger, half of contempt. In his homesick little 
heart he despises the pretensions of the short, 
sparse blades of grass, and the general scantiness 
of vegetation, which requires so much protection, 
from man against man, to save them from extinc- 
tion. He yearns for the vineyards of his native 
home ; he craves to bury himself in the soft, 


FURONO AMATL 


9 


fragrant herbage of the Campagna, or to lave his 
limbs and aching feet in the sparkling waters of 
the Mediterranean. 

His clothes are tattered ; his bare ankles be- 
grimed with dust ; but, somehow, the unconscious 
grace of his pose robs his aspect of vulgarity, and 
many of the passers-by — especially the female por- 
tion — throw kindly, compassionate glances at “ the 
poor little fellow ; worn out by the heat.” 

But not in every breast did his forlorn condition 
kindle the gentle spark of humanity. The spirit 
of mischief, if not of malice, lurked in the twinkle 
of a pair of pale blue eyes, that espied him from 
afar. The flutter of a skimpy calico skirt ; a 
rapid kick from a stringless shoe ; a shrill voice, 
yelling : “ Cheese it, the cop ! ” and the sleeper’s 
siesta comes to an abrupt end. 

The scowl deepens into an expression of fury 
and hatred. 

“ Bestia I ” he mutters, as he eyes the girl, who 
has retreated to a safe distance, whence she waves 
an armful of newspapers at him, while one thin 


10 


FURONO AM ATI. 


dirty hand pushes hack the wisps of red hair, which 
the perspiration has glued to her freckled cheeks. 

“ Hey, Bambo ! ” continues the shrewish voice, 
“ up wid yees, ye lazy dago ! Be about yer biz, or 
yer mother will shine yer hack fur yees ! — Evenin’ 
Teligram, sur. Mail ’n Express ! all the evenin’ 
pap’s, sur ! ” 

The latter part of her speech in a changed key, 
as she pursues a prospective customer down the 
path. 

Bambo disdains to take further notice of “ Irish 
Lizzie,” as she is known to his small fraternity. 
He stretches his attenuated limbs lazily into the 
pathway, unwilling to give up his doleefar niente 
just yet. His features do not relax, for it must be 
confessed that the frown of discontent is rather 
habitual with him ; for this small atom of humanity 
cherishes a bitter resentment against the existing 
order — or rather, disorder — of affairs mundane. 

Why some should have all that is desirable in 
this world, money, clothes, delicacies, and, above 
all, music, and others must go starving in body and 


FURONO AM ATI. 


11 


soul, is an enigma which he meets with rebellion, 
since he cannot solve it. 

In the past — for Bambo already imagines that 
he has a past — it had not troubled him at all that 
he was poor; for Italy, the fair, covers even in- 
digence with so much brilliancy of color ; breathes 
upon naked limbs with such genial warmth, smiles 
with such radiance upon rags, as though they were 
rather amusing circumstances, that one forgets to 
look upon them as misfortunes. But here, in this 
strange, solemn country, where human hearts 
seemed well-nigh as hard or as heavy as the stones 
in its endless rows of houses and pavements, Bambo 
had learned to fear, if not to understand, the cruelty 
of Life to most of her children. 

In his native land he had lived in a fisherman’s 
hovel ; but it was vine-clad and fragrant with 
herbs ; and there were figs and purple grapes, and 
olives, as a relish after one’s meal of bread and 
fish ; and as to being clad in a coarse shirt and 
patched trowsers, what of that ? if one’s neighbors 
wore no better! 


12 


mRONO AM ATI. 


Here it was different ; horridly different. There 
was still the coarse bread and the ragged attire, 
but where were the jests and the merry laughter ? 

Bambo’s father, allured by deceptive visions of 
bettering his condition, had transplanted his small 
family, consisting of himself, the wife and the 
“ bambino,” to this new world, where his poverty 
and ignorance had soon been shorn of their pictur- 
esque draperies. In a miserable, overcrowded tene- 
ment, in the reeking atmosphere of a squalid down- 
town quarter, he had sickened and died, from home- 
sickness and disappointment. His wife and little 
son — the “ bambino,” now no longer, for half in ten- 
derness, half in derision that designation had been 
shortened into “ Bambo ” — were less fortunate, in 
that a tougher constitution or a greater degree of 
adaptability enabled them to continue to exist, un- 
der increased hardships, and they struggled on ; the 
mother in dumb brute-like resignation, the boy in 
seething but suppressed rebellion against fate. 

Having some slightly superior skill with the 
needle, the woman eked out a livelihood by making 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


13 


and mending the garments of her compatriots in 
the quarter where she lived. A small room with 
a large closet attached, which served Bambo for 
his private apartment, comprised their home. But 
it was meet that the boy, now in his ninth year, 
should contribute his share to the support of the 
household, and so la madre., with a sigh born of 
reminiscence of long ago, sold the violin of her 
husband, to purchase a boot-blacking outfit for her 
son, and sent him on his daily errands, first under 
guidance of an elder boy, but latterly entirely de- 
pendent upon his own devices. 

Bambo carried no enthusiasm into his new voca- 
tion. He would have much preferred to wander 
about with the fiddle, but the ruling powers frowned 
upon his gaining his daily bread by “ begging,” and 
so he had to submit to the inevitable, which he did 
with no good grace whatever, it must be admitted. 

Just as soon as a few nickels had been garnered 
to propitiate maternal exaction, Bambo loved to in- 
dulge himself in brooding over the perversity of 
circumstances, or entering into vague scheming for 


14 


FURONO AM ATI. 


means to improve his condition. He had singularly 
little of the light-hearted buoyancy of his country- 
men, but rather more than his share of their fierce 
impulsiveness and sudden outbursts of temper. 
Perhaps this was the outcome of the state of grow- 
ing discontent in his father’s mind, during the 
period to which Bambo owed his existence. Of 
the first three or four years of his life in his sunny 
southern home, Bambo cherished a half visionary 
recollection, magnified into a mirage of unalloyed 
delight by the misery and homesickness that had 
come after, and in his day-dreams it was always to 
Italy that he returned, to live in a vine-clad bower, 
surrounded by strains of sweet music, midst sun- 
shine and merry voices. 

“ Irish Lizzie ” was soon forgotten, as, preparing 
himself to indulge in a spell of his favorite musing, 
he rolled over luxuriously, stretching out his feet 
into the pathway. But he drew them in again, 
quickly, with a sharp cry of pain ; “ Cospetto 

di 


The oath died upon his lips, and the long lids 


FURONO AMATL 


15 


lifted, and parted widely over his great, dark, 
Italian eyes ; gazing with startled amazement upon 
the seraphic apparition of a little girl, arrayed in 
white draperies and gay colored ribbons. 

She was bending over him, her face aglow with 
exercise and quick emotion ; the liquid blue eyes 
full of sweet contrition. Bambo almost forgot the 
stinging pain in his toe, caused by the sharp heel of 
her little French boot, while he observed admir- 
ingly the golden halo of curls that framed her fair 
forehead. 

“ Did I hurt you much ? Oh, I am so sorry ! 
But you put out your feet so suddenly, and I was 
running and could not stop myself.” 

No answer; for Bambo, between pain and bliss 
could not utter a word. Such music as her voice, 
he thought, he had never heard before, except per- 
haps in a dream of angels. 

The little girl, half abashed by the intensity of 
his gaze, bent lower to examine the injured foot. 
A drop of dark red blood oozed slowly from the 
bruised toe. 


16 


FUEONO AM ATI. 


With a quick exclamation of distress the little 
one dropped on her knees. 

“ Oh, poor boy ! I made it bleed ! What can I 
do ? Let me tie it up with my handkerchief, and 
then you must go home and ask your mamma to 
bathe it with Pond’s Extract.” 

Bambo let her twist the bit of lace around the 
bruised member, watching her with breathless sur- 
prise, but offering no resistance. 

“ Mademoiselle Isabel ! Mon Dieu ! What are 
you doing there ? Leave the dirty boy alone, this 
instant!” and a French “bonne” in white cap 
and apron fluttered down upon them like a 
ruffled hen. 

“ I stepped on his toe, Fifine, and hurt him, oh, 
so badly ! ” 

The blue eyes, full of tender pity, were raised 
to the face of her nurse, pleadingly, but Fifine 
knew her duty, and began dragging her young 
charge away. 

“ G-rand Dieu! But it is a ragamuffln I You 
will catch the — the contagion ! ” 


FURONO AMATL 


17 


Isabel had to submit to superior strength ; but 
she cast regretful glances behind. 

“ Good-bye, little boy ! ” she cried ; “ I am so 
sorry ! I hope it will soon get well I ” 

Bambo regarded her in continued silence, follow- 
ing her with his eyes until her fluttering garments 
disappeared from view, then he drew a long breath, 
and shook himself, as if to dispel an illusion. 

Then he looked at his toe. There was the tiny 
lace handkerchief, proof positive that he had not 
been dreaming. Slowly he raised himself to a 
sitting posture, keeping his eyes upon the bit of 
trimmed lawn as though it were a gem. Softly 
he touched it with his Angers ; then he unwound 
it and held it gingerly in his hand: the sweet 
perfume of violets caressed his nostrils, but it bore 
an ugly red blood stain in its midst. 

Bambo looked about him stealthily, as if he were 
going to commit a theft. Then, quickly, he thrust 
the handkerchief into the front of his gingham 
shirt, and sprang to his feet. He snatched up his 
kit of tools and tramped homeward scarcely con- 
scious of the pain in his toe. 2 


18 


FUEONO AM ATI, 


With a new perception of the entire repulsive- 
ness of the dirt and squalor around him, he picked 
his way thi’ough the groups of unkempt and neg- 
lected children of the Italian quarter, answering 
an occasional recognition with a short grunt, or 
disdaining altogether to take notice of it. His 
acquaintances were used to his taciturn ways and 
gave themselves little concern about him, in their 
turn. If he chose to keep himself aloof, they cared 
not a rap ; hasta ! 

Arrived within the confines of his humble home, 
a sweltering room, scanty of dimensions and still 
more scanty of furnishings, he thi’ew his kit into a 
corner, searching his pocket for the day’s earnings. 
He handed the few coins to his mother, a sallow, 
sharp-visaged woman, with eyes like a gentle cow’s, 
and probably with as little development of intel- 
lect, and then devoted his attention, somewhat 
wearily to the evening meal, a sort of stew with a 
predominant flavor of garlic. A piece of white 
bread formed his entremets and dessert. 

His mother had returned to a piece of work 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


19 


which his coming had interrupted ; utilizing the 
waning light to sew on some last buttons. Bambo 
regarded her for a few moments through his fingers, 
as he sat supporting his head with his hand. Then 
his glance wandered down to his bruised toe, and 
a cynical, unchildlike smile flitted over his dusky 
face. 

“ Ask your mamma to bathe it with ” he did 

not remember what remedy the girl had recom- 
mended ; no matter, his mother was doubtless quite 
as ignorant of it. At home, in the Campagna.^ she 
might have known of some cooling and healing 
herb. A dull, homesick sigh rose to the boy’s lips 
and escaped in almost a sob. His mother looked 
at him over her work. 

“ Chbavete., Bambo ? ” she asked, not unkindly. 
They always spoke in their native language when 
alone, though both had acquired enough knowledge 
of English to get on with ; Bambo rather more, 
with the ready adaptability of childhood. 

“ It is nothing. The sun made my head ache.” 

Not for the world would he have told of his ad- 


20 


FURONO AMATI. 


venture to any one, not even to his mother. They 
were not given to confidences, these two. The wo- 
man bore her hard lot with a calm stolidity that had 
a touch of pridej and Bamho knew from experience 
that he could expect little sympathy, if indeed any 
understanding from her in the perplexities and 
rebellion of his youthful brain. He rose and en- 
tered the small recess, where a straw pallet on a 
stretcher, a rickety stool with a tin basin, and a 
dilapidated leather trunk comprised all he could 
survey as proprietor. 

Here the air was still more stifling ; only a small 
aperture — a window opening into an adjoining 
room, high up above the foot of Bambo’s couch — 
admitted scanty ventilation when the door was 
closed. This adjoining apartment had been un- 
occupied for some time, to Bambo’s great satisfac- 
tion, for he resented being crowded by his fellow- 
men ; therefore he noted with displeasure on this 
evening, that some one was moving about on the 
other side of the wall. A match was struck and 
a momentary illumination followed. In a few 


FUEONO AM ATI. 


21 


seconds it died away and the odor of tobacco pro- 
claimed that the new occupant of the room was 
enjoying a smoke ; an additional grievance to 
Bambo, who objected to the intrusion of the 
tobacco-fumes, which made the atmosphere still 
more close in his closet. 

He pushed the door into the sitting-room wide 
open, to admit more air. His mother had gone to 
deliver the finished garment, and would probably 
spend some time gossiping. 

With a feeling of relief at being alone, the boy 
threw himself on his bed, first divesting himself of 
all superfluous clothing. As he drew off his shirt, 
the little handkerchief dropped from its hiding- 
place. Faintly the odor of violets mingled with 
that of the tobacco. Bambo snatched up the 
cloth eagerly, and threw himself on his back, 
spreading the little patch of lace over his perspir- 
ing face. It seemed to carry a luxurious sensa- 
tion of refreshment to his confused mind. Soon 
he was lost in the deep meditations which absorbed 
so many hours which his mother believed devoted 


22 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


to sleep ; as if one could sleep in such a suffocat- 
ing hole ! 

But if it were hot, he was at least alone there, 
this small misanthrope, who shunned his kind. 
He would rather smother there, than mingle in 
the noisy, quarrelsome companionship of the 
streets. But a strange, new element entered his 
musings on this night ; almost like a touch of 
celestial light. Could it be that there was some 
truth, after all, in what the priests talked about, 
and that there was a place, somewhere, set apart 
for beings brighter and — and cleaner than all the 
rest ? Clean like the snow when it first fell from 
the sky ? 

Bambo’s mother had preserved some of the in- 
stincts of people who live on the borders of great 
bodies of water, and even in her curtailed sur- 
roundings, adhered to the traditions of periodical 
ablutions. But Bambo had much of the lazy in- 
difference of the street-Arab in regard to cleanli- 
ness, and associated the bath with Sunday, or a 
festa; a necessary evil to be evaded if possible. 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


23 


Still, an innate love of the beautiful caused him to 
appreciate the effects of a good washing — when it 
was over and done with ! And now he jumped 
suddenly from his reclining position, carried his 
tin basin to the sink in the corner of the sitting- 
room and began a most vigorous scrubbing. 

“ Santa Maria ! Has the boy gone mad from 
sunstroke ? ” exclaimed his mother on her return, 
for a small inundation was spreading through the 
room. 

“ It was so hot, Madre mia^'^ apologized Bambo, 
retreating to his lair, shamefacedly, but with a 
feeling of being clothed in a purity finer than 
purple and fine linen. 

A singular excitement pulsed in his veins ; a 
drowsy sort of intoxication, and he felt himself 
dropping into sleep, when suddenly a soft, soughing 
sound crept through his chamber — if a mere closet 
deserve such a name. 

An undefined melody at first, like the low 
singing of a beautiful voice, growing stronger and 
gaining in sweetness until Bambo held his breath, 


24 


FUROJSfO AM ATI. 


in an ecstasy of surprise and delight, and then 
arose its harmony divine, from soft whisperings 
"to throbbing, passionate appeal ; then burst into 
triumphant pseans of victory, melodious rejoicing ; 
then sank again to murmurs of content, sighing 
its breath away, as in expiring throes of passion. 

The boy lay as in a trance, not daring to move, 
lest the heavenly harmony should vanish at his 
first motion. Even when all was still, he lay 
listening to the echoes in his brain. 

Some one coughed in the next room. Bambo 
sat up. Could it be that this wondrous music had 
been produced by the new lodger ? Then he must 
be a great artist, or perhaps a magician ! Dragging 
the stool under the opening into his neighbor’s 
apartment, Bamho climbed up stealthily to take a 
peep at him ; but though he could see a moving 
shadow, the room was too dark to permit him to 
distinguish its occupant plainly. Trifling as his 
weight might be, his frail support creaked omin- 
ously, and his fingers ached from clinging to the 
rough wooden frame. His breath came in audible 


FURONO AM ATI. 


25 


pants, and the shadowy figure stood still, as if to 
listen. A dread of being discovered overcame the 
boy; he relaxed his grip, and, accompanied by 
considerable noise, he tumbled backward upon his 
couch. For a while he lay and listened, but 
nothing came of it, and little by little his tension 
of mind relaxed ; fatigue gained the mastery and 
he fell into the heavy sleep of boyhood. 

His mother had no little difficulty in arousing 
him for his day’s labors the next morning, and 
when he tumbled from his pallet into his clothes, 
Bambo felt inclined to believe that his confused 
memories of beautiful sounds and the vision of a 
fair girl, were the creations of his dreams. 

During his meagre breakfast he strove to sep- 
arate reality from imagination, but his glance fell 
upon his bare toes — for shoes were irksome as well 
as an extravagance in hot weather — and there was 
the evidence, in the shape of an ugly bruise, that 
his adventure of the previous day, at least, was 
not imaginary ; and again it assumed the import- 
ance of an episode that was to lead him, like a red 


26 


FUBONO AMATL 


cord, through the labyrinth of his future to the 
bitter end. 

He finished his meal abruptly, returning to his 
closet, where he searched eagerly, until he found, 
crushed into the straw of his pallet, the little 
handkerchief; alas, bereft now of much of its 
pristine freshness. Covertly he carried it to the 
window to examine it for a mark of identification. 
But no clue to its former owner’s name was 
visible. 

“ Isabel,” the nurse had called her ; that must 
suffice him. Bambo felt keenly disappointed. 
Why he should care to find the girl again, he him- 
self could not have explained. He hated girls in 
general — the genus girl of which “ Irish Lizzie ” 
was a specimen — and regarded them with the 
usual lofty contempt of the male of his age. But 
there was something about this girl that set her 
apart for all time. Not that her clothes and 
manners were superior — he had often watched the 
young aristocrats of the Square at their play — but 
that she had treated him as an equal, him whom 


FURONO AMATL 


27 


most of her kind shunned and avoided ; with 
drawing aside of their garments, and haughty 
bearing. 

Somehow she had come like a whiff of sweet cool 
air into the heat of the summer’s day. He wanted 
to see her again, to repeat the sensation she had 
given him, and he planned deliberately to bring it 
about. He would ask his mother to wash the 
handkerchief, and restore it to its proper shape. 
Then he would watch for the child in the Square, 
and under the pretext of returning to her what 
was hers, he would make her speak to him once 
more. 

An unaccountable shyness seized upon him, how- 
ever, when he turned to his mother to proffer his 
request, and he could not frame his petition. 

“ What ails you, Bambo ? ” the woman asked 
again ; this time a little sharply. “ You will miss 
your patrons on their way to business, if you linger 
about so long.” 

The boy crumpled the cloth in his hands quickly, 
to hide it from her, and reached for his kit of 


28 


FURONO AM ATI. 


tools. Then he started for his day’s task with 
sudden energy, determined to gather his customary 
pittance as speedily as possible, in order to have 
more leisure to look for his new acquaintance in 
the Square. He could not return the handkerchief 
to her in its present condition ; that he felt, but he 
would try to see her from afar, anyhow. 

The day brought him, however, only disappoint- 
ment. He watched and waited in vain, traversing 
the paths of Madison Square and following every 
fluttering white skirt of playing children until 
sunset, when with an increased sense of grievance 
against fate, and but a scanty supply of nickels in 
his pocket, he returned to the maternal roof. 

He felt no hunger and pushed his supper from 
him untasted. His mother looked, with dawning 
anxiety, first upon the untouched viands, then into 
the scowling face of her offspring. 

Was the boy going to be ill ? God forbid ! ill- 
ness meant doctors and increased expense ; or per- 
haps the hospital. 

Madre de Dio ! Her fingers were rough with the 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


29 


pricks of the needle, and hardened by manifold 
toil, but she pushed back the glossy black curls 
from the boy’s forehead with a maternal gentleness 
of touch. 

“ If the heat tires you so much,” she said, “ you 
had better stay at home and rest, to-morrow.” 

But Bambo met her solicitude with a grunt of 
impatience. 

“ It is nothing,” he muttered. Then he went 
into his closet and stretched himself on the cot. 

Suddenly he recollected the music of the pre- 
vious night. Somehow he had associated the 
sounds with the child Isabel, and had lost sight 
of them as a separate occurrence. Now all at once 
it flashed upon him, with a feeling of joy, that if 
the music had been produced by the lodger in the 
next room, there was a chance that he might hear 
it again. He strained his ears to listen ; but not 
the slightest movement was audible in the adjoin- 
ing apartment, and after a while sleep overcame 
the boy. He did not know how long his slumbers 
had lasted when he was recalled to wakefulness 


30 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


by the magic melody which again seemed to fill 
the wretched hole where he lay. 

Bambo sat up, rubbing his eyes hard, from the 
startled perception that he was no longer in utter 
darkness. It took him some time to realize that 
the light entered through the little open window, 
over the foot of his couch. Stealthily he got up ; 
but the music would have drowned any noise pro- 
duced by his careful motion. Again he fixed the 
stool between his bed and the wall, and standing 
upon tiptoe, lifted himself with his hands to the 
edge of the aperture. 

He had full opportunity, this time, for observa- 
tion. His first impression was of a dazzling bright- 
ness. The room had evidently just received a 
fresh coat of whitewash, and the walls were unre- 
lieved by pictures or other ornaments. A kerosene 
lamp burned on a plain deal table, bare of cover- 
ing, but white as snow, from scouring. A tin cof- 
fee-pot and an earthenware cup and saucer stood 
beside a loaf of rye bread and a little dab of butter 
on a wooden plate ; evidently the remnants of the 
occupant’s frugal supper. 


FUBONO AMATI. 


31 


Within the radiance of the light, but turning his 
back toward it, sat a broad-shouldered man of gen- 
erous proportions ; muscular, blond-bearded ; his 
burly limbs stretched far apart in front of him. In 
his arms he held, as with a loving clasp, the golden- 
brown body of a violin. His head bent caress- 
ingly upon it as he drew its music with the touches 
of the bow. 

Bambo could only see the man’s profile, but the 
outlines of the leonine head, the robust figure, and 
general neatness of attire, coarse as it was — con- 
sisting of a blue cotton blouse and dun-colored 
trowsers — plainly bespoke his Teutonic nationality. 

Something of contemptuous disenchantment 
stole into the dusky face of the little Italian, and 
raised the curves of his Cupid-mouth at the corners. 

“ Un Tedesco,^^ “ a Dutchman,” as he was ac- 
customed to hear the sons of the German race des- 
ignated. And he could make the little dark in- 
strument sing like that ? Just to listen how it 
spoke ! Coaxing, caressing, beguiling ! Now 
swelling with passionate demand, now bursting 


32 


FURONO AM ATI. 


into the triumph of achievement. Mother of God ! 
It was alive ! It was a celestial spirit, imprisoned 
in that narrow case, and held captive by the Ger- 
man giant ! 

Bambo’s fingers grew numb with their clutch 
upon the window-sill ; his limbs had gone to sleep 
under his weight, but he felt nothing, cared for 
nothing, so long as the glorious cadences, the 
magic thrills that ran in electric ripples through 
his nerves, continued. But suddenly, in the midst 
of a plaintive prayer, wordless as it was, still, so 
touching that the tears welled up under the boy’s 
eyelids, the strain broke off, leaving the last note 
moaning upon the air like a wail of sorrow. At 
the same moment, cramped and stiff in all his 
joints, Bambo dropped from his perch, with a thud 
like the falling of an over-ripe fruit. The straw 
bed broke the severity of his fall and he made no 
outcry, for fear of discovery. 

For hours he lay wide awake, curled up like a 
wildcat in its lair ; with a fierce, desperate longing 
in his savage little breast ; the longing to have this 


FURONO AM ATI. 


33 


exquisite singing instrument for his own ; to hold 
it in his arms, this brown beauty ; to draw from it 
with his caressing fingers the music that had 
awakened while it enslaved his soul. 

A singular phase of existence now opened before 
this little transplanted sunflower. More than ever 
silent and shy, even with his mother, he treated 
the associates of his own age with repelling gruff- 
ness, until they shunned him, or followed him with 
jeers — half mockery, half superstitious fear — warn- 
ing each other against jetta tura.^ the evil eye, 
until he turned upon them and drove them to 
flight. 

Devoured by a heart-hunger for which he had 
no name, he spent his days in fruitless endeavor to 
find the little girl who had first wounded and then 
bandaged his toe, and his evenings in an agony of 
rapture, listening to the music produced by his 
neighbor. 

But of the child, whose kindly compassion had 

fallen like balm upon the roughness of his life, he 

did not find a trace. No doubt she belonged to 
3 


34 


FUJRONO AM ATI. 


people of wealth, who had sojourned at one of the 
great hotels that border the square ; and she had 
vanished from the scene as suddenly as she had 
appeared to him. Her image had become to the 
boy as merged into the exquisite voice of the sing- 
ing violin ; for had not both come to him on the 
same memorable day ? 

He accorded to the instrument a distinct and 
separate individuality from that of the master 
under whose touch it seemed to become instinct 
with life and soul. And what was he, but the 
stern jailer, who held this impulsive, mysterious 
being in his thrall, calling forth her protests or 
responses at his will. 

Bambo had asked no questions in regard to him, 
but he had learned all about the new lodger within 
a short time, from the gossips that paid neighborly 
calls to his mother. 

He was a German, a carpenter by trade, who 
worked at odd jobs at his calling, in an independ- 
ent sort of a way. He was surmised to be suffi- 
ciently provided with the necessaries of life, though 


FUBONO AMATL 


35 


he lived frugally like his neighbors, for he had 
been known to bestow a copper, once or twice, upon 
some small urchin, who met him in the hall or on 
the stairs. And he could boast of a Sunday suit, 
old-fashioned and not fitting too well, still perfectly 
neat and respectable, which he donned on Sunday 
afternoons, and on one evening in the week, Wed- 
nesdays, when he did not come home until after 
eleven o’clock, and was supposed to have attended 
a club of his compatriots. But as he always car- 
ried his violin with him on these occasions, the 
club must have been of a more peaceful purpose 
than the hatching of anarchistical plots. 

Once Bambo had met him on his way, and a big 
brown hand had dropped lightly upon his curly 
black hair, for a moment. The boy thrilled under 
the touch — for was it not the hand that controlled 
the voice ? — but he had also resented the familiar- 
ity, and shaken himself loose, surly enough. 

But night after night — except Wednesdays, 
when all the world was as a blank to Bambo — he 
clung to his perch at the window, in the dark, lis- 


36 


FVBONO AMATL 


tening to the tones that filled him with rapture 
and longing. He had supplemented the stool with 
an empty soap-box, and enjoyed his lofty though 
precarious position with some degree of comfort. 
On one or two occasions he mistrusted that the 
player had observed him, for he turned his head in 
the direction of the window. Bambo had shrunk 
out of sight in a twinkling and the music went on 
as if the German had taken no heed. 

But at last came an eventful evening, when the 
sad and plaintive strains overcame the responsive 
heart of the little listener, and a sob of passionate 
sympathy burst from his quivering lips. In an 
instant the playing ceased and the German stood 
close before the window, looking straight into the 
face of the boy ; for he was a man of gigantic 
stature and towered within close proximity of the 
low ceiling. 

“What art thou sobbing about, little fellow? 
What ails thee ? ” A deep sonorous voice with 
the German inflection addressed Bambo. But the 
boy disappeared like a squirrel into its hole, and 


FURONO AMATL 


37 


cowered breathless with dismay and self-reproaches. 
He was more accustomed to kicks from the grown- 
up brutes of the human race, than kindly words, 
and he doubted not that this big, strong laborer 
would give him a sound drubbing for spying into 
his privacy. He looked formidable enough to the 
puny lad, frail and slender as a reed, though with 
the supple grace of an Italian greyhound. 

A few minutes later there came a loud knock 
at the door, and the deep voice asked permission 
of Bambo’s mother to enter. The Italian woman 
stared and held back a little suspiciously, but the 
German set her right with a few good-natured 
remarks about being neighborly. 

“ You are a clever needle-woman, I am told,” 
he continued, “ and if you won’t mind taking 
another customer, I think I can give you a job, 
now and then.” 

The acquaintance being thus put on a business 
basis, the woman no longer objected, and hospit- 
ably invited him to be seated. 

Bambo, with a hidden consciousness that the 


38 


FURONO AM ATI. 


German’s visit had a close connection with his 
own misdeed, kept out of sight as long as he 
could, and when called forth by his mother, re- 
fused tacitly to admit the new comer to closer 
intimacy. But Master Christopher, as he an- 
nounced his name to be, bided his time, and then 
went straight to the mark. 

“So you like my violin? you young rascal. 
Then why don’t you come to me when I play, 
instead of sitting on the window-sill, like a cat?” 

Bambo would fain have slunk back into his 
closet. He felt as if a rude finger had been 
pressed upon a hidden, sacred spot in his soul; 
but the carpenter had taken a firm grip on his 
shoulder, and the “ young rascal ” was bestowed 
so kindly that it sounded more like commendation 
than reproof. 

“ I don’t generally like to have an audience 
when I am alone with my sweetheart,” he con- 
tinued, “ but you might better sit on a chair like 
a Christian, than climb into the window, like a 
wild animal in a tree-top.” 


FUBONO AMATL 


39 


Bambo’s mother looked greatly disturbed by the 
discovery of her offspring’s indiscretion, and would 
have entered upon a reprimand, but Christopher 
laughed her anger to naught in his easy, hearty 
manner, and then he went to fetch his instrument, 
to the boy’s unutterable delight. 

Christopher began to play a simple ditty, such 
as he thought would please the Italian woman, but 
Bambo jumped at him impulsively. 

“ Not like that! You hurt her when you play 
with her like that ! ” 

The German burst into a loud and prolonged 
guffaw. 

“ So you are discriminating in your tastes, my 
little man ? Or has this saucy coquette bewitched 
you, as she does me sometimes ? But you are 
right, sonny, the frivolous carols of the street are 
not fit for so aristocratic a lady as my Amati I 
And since you like good music, you shall have 
plenty of it.” 

Then he drew his bow softly and lightly over 
the strings as if to invite the voice to come forth, 


40 


FURONO AMATI. 


causing the notes to swell gradually into the 
allegro of a Beethoven sonata. While playing, he 
watched the boy closely. He observed the waves 
of emotion that swept over his pale olive face, 
with its dark, glowing eyes, under the changing 
measures of the violin, while Bambo, all forgetful 
of his surroundings, crept closer and closer until 
he crouched at the very feet of the musician. At 
first his long almond-shaped eyes were half shut, 
emitting a gleam now and then, with a sudden 
lifting of the curling black lashes of his heavy 
eyelids. When, under the skillful manipulation 
of the player, the music changed from a leisurely, 
graceful adagio to the fantastic capriceioso^ the 
dark orbs sparkled and opened widely, but when 
the voice of the instrument arose to an impassioned 
outburst, he trembled all over with nervous ex- 
citement. Again Christopher varied his theme 
and dropped into a wail, melodious but full of 
heart-rending despair ; and Bambo, his limbs re- 
laxing, threw himself on the floor, face downward 
to hide his tears. 


FURONO AM ATI. 


41 


The German stopped abruptly, “ Child,” he 
said, “ thou hast the soul of a musician ; thou wilt 
be a great artist some day ! ” 

The Italian woman sat in dumb wonder, half at 
the music, half at the strange behavior of her son. 

“ Let him become my pupil,” demanded the 
German. “ I will teach him the alphabet of music.” 
From that hour Bambo was the German carpenter’s 
devoted slave. But a severe disappointment awaited 
him at the very outset of his studies. When he 
entered Christopher’s room the next evening, all 
palpitating with suppressed exultation, his self- 
constituted teacher took another violin from a 
chest of drawers and proceeded to tune it, talking 
to his pupil about the process the while. Bambo’s 
face fell. He eyed the instrument with visible 
disfavor. He was not then to hold the brown 
beauty in his arms ? 

Christopher’s eyes were upon him. They were 
singularly observing eyes, light blue and clear as 
crystal, and Bambo felt as if they read his inner- 
most thoughts. 


42 


FUnoNO AM ATI. 


“ Well, what is it, little tree-toad? ” the German 
asked with an amused twinkle. 

“You will not let me have her?” The boy 
pointed to the table where the graceful form, which 
his fingers craved to touch, reposed in her case of 
ebony. 

The carpenter laughed outright. 

“ No, my little man, the Amati is too dainty a 
treasure to be handled by clumsy fingers ; and 
yours are not over clean in the bargain. You 
would only make her shriek in disgust. First you 
must learn to handle your bow, and know one 
string from the other, ere you can expect to draw 
anything but discord from the finest instrument. 
’Tis a fact too many of us disregard, with violins 
as well as in other affairs of life ! ” 

Bambo’s brows knitted themselves into their 
habitual frown. He looked at the instrument 
which the German held out to him half with anger, 
half with dislike. But Christopher spoke sharply. 

“ Don’t be a fool, boy ! — By the way, what do 
they call you ? ” 


FUnONO AM ATI. 


43 


“ Bambo.” 

“ Bambo ! Bambo ivhat f It smacks of a monkey 
on a hand-organ, and if I mistake not, it means, 
‘ silly.’ And you have a head such as your great 
Raffaelle would have liked to paint. What was 
your father’s name ? ” 

“ Tomaso Sanfiero.” 

“ That’ll do better ! I hate ugly names. I shall 
call you Sanfiero, as is your right. But if you 
keep that ugly wrinkle between your eyes, you 
might as well be named Asmodeo. Cheer up, lad ! 
Don’t you want to learn to play the violin ? Then 
get out with you ! Quick ! ” 

But Bambo jumped with sudden apprehension. 

“ I will do what you will I ” he cried, eagerly. 
“ I will learn to touch her ! ” 

“ Very well, then,” decided the German practi- 
cally. “ Come here first, and give your hands a 
scrubbing.” 

In the corner of the room stood a big, tin bath- 
tub, and Christopher looked at the little Italian as 
if he would like to dump him in altogether, but he 


44 


FVBONO AMATL 


restrained himself, and gave him a generous piece 
of brown soap and a crash towel. The ablution 
performed to his satisfaction, he proceeded with 
the first lesson. 

They were a singular pair, this strong, tall Ger- 
man, with his keen, frank glance and the soul of a 
nightingale, and the slim, brown lad, with his 
dusky, southern beauty, and a heart full of sup- 
pressed stormy passion. But in the weeks that 
followed, the German took a deep and abiding 
liking to the waif whom he had taken into his pat- 
ronage. He had much of the speculative tenden- 
cies of the Teuton, mixed with a calm philosophy 
of his own, that led him to believe that people are 
what circumstances make of them. He liked to 
study the workings of the Italian boy’s intense and 
determined character, and tried to give them a 
turn in the right direction. 

Goaded on, as he was, by his desire to advance 
quickly, so that he might be permitted to handle 
the Amati, Bambo proved himself a zealous enough 
scholar to satisfy the most exacting teacher. But 


FURONO AM ATI. 


45 


there is, as every one knows, no royal road to mas- 
tering the technical difficulties of that most difficult 
of instruments, the violin ; and his progress, rapid 
as it might be, failed to keep pace with his am- 
bition. 

However, “ playing the fiddle ” was not all that 
the German taught him. He had put the boy 
through a searching examination, and found him 
in almost complete ignorance of every kind of learn- 
ing except the crude, self-acquired knowledge of 
reading and cyphering. He set to work imme- 
diately, cultivating the luxuriant disorder of the 
lad’s active brain into something like coherent un- 
derstanding. But in this, he met with less ready 
acquiescence from his pupil, who, with the absurd 
precociousness of the street- Arab, resented this re- 
flection upon his early-ripe experience. 

Christopher, however, had a potent medium 
through which he could stimulate the boy to in- 
dustrious application; after a lesson properly at- 
tended to, he would reward him with an hour of 
sweetest strains from the Amati, a privilege for 


46 


FURONO AMATL 


wliich Bambo would have gone bodily through fire 
and water at any time. 

These hours of reward gave, at the same time, 
acutest pleasure and pain to the boy. Lying on 
his back, his hands folded under his head, as was 
his favorite position — a remnant of the fashion of 
his native land that clung to him — he watched the 
master at play, through the long slit of his half- 
closed eyelids, while his eyes glowed with a sombre 
fire. 

He adored the music ; he had endued it with an 
individuality, perceptible to him alone. He loved 
the little brown body that encased his ideal, as a 
lover would cherish his mistress, and it filled him 
with passionate resentment, bordering upon rage, 
that another than himself should draw forth with 
his skillful touch the sweetness of the voice which 
he longed with a jealous heart to have her yield 
to him alone. And thus the demon of jealousy 
played with his childish brain as he would with 
the heart of a man in the presence of a favored 
rival. 


FUR ON O AM ATI. 


47 


All this might seem very absurd to the descend- 
ants of a northern race, in whose veins the blood 
pulses with mathematical precision ; but in Bambo 
it was the covert manifestation of his southern 
birth. Not unlikely that his life-blood was tainted 
with the lawless propensities of a banditti ancestor, 
for in his heart throbbed the under-current of seeth- 
ing emotions that reason only with the flash of the 
stiletto. 

His mother, merely a specimen of the “ breeder ” 
of her class, saw only that he was silent and morose, 
and that he held himself aloof from the heterogene- 
ous crowd of Italians, Irish and other imported 
brood that swarmed in the tenement where they 
lived. 

But then, she thought — when she gave the 
matter a thought at all — his father had been much 
the same, loving his fiddle or his gun better than 
the pick and shovel. She knew that life, the stern 
schoolmaster, would not be likely to spare the rod 
to this obstreperous scholar; and so la Madre 
steadily pursued her sewing ; indeed she had need 


48 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


to slave over it from morning till night in order to 
keep body and soul together. 

Bambo still continued in his daily duties of 
boot-blacking, for nickels were in imperative de- 
mand. He had done better at his trade of late, 
than formerly, but his days were but dreams of the 
evening hours to come, and not unfrequently his 
fingers curled around the back of his brushes, 
moving them to some inward rhythm, reproduced 
by the echoes in his brain. 

His search for the little stranger, who had acted 
the good Samaritan to him, he had abandoned, 
though at times he glanced around the square in- 
voluntarily as if expecting to see her. His absorb- 
ing infatuation for the Amati had apparently ob- 
scured his recollection of the face of a mere girl. 

The German, intent upon his effort to prune 
some of the wild creepers thrown out by this plant 
of almost tropical nature, was puzzled at times, 
but rather amused than otherwise, at the sudden 
fiashes of temper with which the boy would turn 
upon him, when the chords produced by his bo^vy 


FURONO AM ATI. 


49 


were not to Bambo’s liking. It did not occur to 
him however that the lad regarded him with per- 
sonal envy. 

And so this odd couple, the man with the gener- 
ous heart of a boy, and the boy with the jealous 
heart of a man, jogged along together as destiny 
would lead them. 

Christopher was a man of frugal habits, and his 
sturdy arm had never failed him in providing for 
his necessities ; and beyond that he had a Bohemian’s 
disregard for the artificial wants of civilization. 
He had, as he himself expressed it, been wise 
enough never to marry. His Amati, he said, was 
all-sufficient to him as a sweetheart; and much 
more likely to sympathize with his varying moods 
than any woman. Besides, he added with a whim- 
sical look in his blue eyes, she was sure to keep 
silent until asked to speak. 

She had come to him in the days of his youth, 

he once related to Bambo, when, as a journeyman- 

carpenter, in his native land, he had met with a 

broken-down musician, who, in return for care and 
4 


60 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


kindness, had taught him his art, and when death 
put a stop to his wanderings, had bequeathed his 
violin to the youth who had stood by him in want 
and sickness. 

Since then the Amati had been Christopher’s 
constant companion. He had the temperament of 
a true artist, loving music for music’s sake, but 
any proposal to turn his exceptional talent to 
pecuniary account he repudiated with vigor. 

“ My music is for myself alone ; I do not sell 
it,” he would say. “ If you like to listen you are 
welcome ; but when I want your money I will 
help to build your houses or repair your furniture.” 

His compatriots regarded him as a mild crank, 
especially as he would have none of socialist’s 
meetings and reform clubs. His club consisted of 
a few congenial souls who met over their pipes and 
pet hobbies, in the back room of a modest German 
beer saloon, on Wednesday evenings of each week. 
The German had boasted much of late, before 
these cronies, of the musical genius whom he had 
discovered in the little Italian boy ; and had prom- 


FUR ON O AM ATI. 


51 


ised to introduce him to them as soon as he 
could produce something worth listening to. 

But work as he would, Bambo’s progress was all 
too slow for his own impatience. He was disposed 
to lay the blame upon the instrument he used. 
Such discordant sounds, he thought, as his violin 
gave forth at times, surely never dwelt in the 
delicate, glossy frame of the Amati ! It was true 
that his teacher could draw clear, strong notes from 
the instrument he had given the boy to practise 
upon, but what were they to compare with the 
divine voice of his love ? 

With yearning glances he watched the fingers 
of his instructor when he manipulated the respon- 
sive strings of the Amati. If Christopher would 
only permit him, he mused angrily, he was sure 
that he could make her sing for himself also ! Oh, 
for a chance to prove it ! What triumph ! 

But the German was too jealous of his power 
over her ever to consent to the trial. If he could 
only snatch her in some unobserved moment, and 
hold her in his grasp, what bliss ! 


62 


FUROJSfO AM ATI. 


So pondered Bambo, or Sanfiero, as Christopher 
invariably called him, and his desire fed upon re- 
fusal. His opportunity was long in coming, for 
the German was careful in keeping his treasure 
locked up ; perhaps from an inkling of the designs 
that filled his pupil’s brain. Better to have let 
him have his will for once ; for when covetous 
lust takes root and flourishes in the human heart, 
it is not often allowed to perish for want of oppor- 
tunity ; and Sanfiero’s craving to possess himself 
of his master’s violin, was only permitted to grow 
strong enough and fierce enough to shrink from 
no means, fair or foul, to satisfy his desire. 

He came to look upon the man who was his 
greatest benefactor as an enemy whom he must 
circumvent. Ofttimes when he saw the slender 
brown violin in the firm hold of her owner, he 
longed to throw himself upon him with all his 
puny strength and tear her from his breast. To 
what insanity of reckless fury his Italian tempera- 
ment might have goaded him, had not his pent- 


FUBONO AMATL 


53 


up desires found their outlet at last, it is impos- 
sible to surmise — but his time had come. 

One Wednesday evening Christopher departed as 
usual — so Bambo thought — for the meeting of his 
club at the little tavern. The Italian boy hung 
about the stairs and halls, chafing under the de- 
privation of his favorite enjoyment. Repelled by 
the familiarity of the screaming and quarreling 
crowd of youngsters, of both sexes and all ages, 
that swarmed through the tenement, he soon 
skulked back to his own quarters. His mother 
was indulging in a neighborly visit in the street, 
and stifling as the room was, it gave the boy a 
sense of relief to shut the door behind him. 

Aimlessly he entered his closet and threw him- 
self on his bed, as was his custom. From force of 
habit his eyes wandered to the window over the 
foot of his couch. It was thence that he had first 
beheld the object of his longing. He raised him- 
self mechanically, wondering why his memory 
should all at once revert so vividly to the evening 
of that day, when he had returned home, his toe 


54 


FURONO AM ATI. 


wounded by the heel of a strange child. The 
little handkerchief rested — a little crumpled, soiled 
bunch — in one corner of his dilapidated trunk. 
He had half a mind to get up and find it. 

A hazy sense of having been foiled in his 
efforts at finding the girl, increased his general 
feeling of injury. How long ago it all seemed, 
and yet how vividly the occurrences of the mem- 
orable evening all at once appeared in his mind. 
Merely from an impulse of continuing the impres- 
sion by repeating a former action, he climbed upon 
the stool to look into the next room. It was a 
position which he could not maintain long, for the 
stool had become still more rickety from usage, 
and he had to depend upon the support of his 
hands upon the window-sill. He threw but one 
glance into the room of the German, then fell back 
as if struck by an electric shock, for in that one 
glance he had seen the case of the Amati standing 
on the table ! 

For a few moments he lay as he had fallen ; quiv- 
ering, panting; the blood surging in his brain. 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


55 


Had the German taken the instrument from its 
box and carried it to the club in his hand ? That 
was unprecedented ! And why should he do that? 
No ! . He must have decided to leave his violin at 
home that night. 

The boy, shivering with excitement, gathered 
himself together. He burned to investigate, but he 
knew that Christopher always locked his room and 
carried the key with him when he went out. But 
wait ! there was the window ! The aperture was 
small, but then his body was slim and supple. 
Quick as thought he darted into the next room, 
looking into the hall to see if anyone were coming ; 
then he closed the door carefully and ran back to 
his closet, where he shut himself in. 

The soap-box was still under his bed ; he pulled 
it out. The old trunk was piled on top of it ; then 
the stool. Cautiously he tested the security of the 
support. It was but precarious, but he climbed 
upon it like a cat and found it easy to get upon 
the window-sill. He wriggled about and went 
through feet first. It was a tight squeeze, but he 


56 


FURONO AM ATI. 


succeeded and let himself down to the floor with a 
jump. How he was to get back never entered his 
calculations ; he was too intent, too intoxicated 
with hope and the fear of disappointment to think 
of anything but the violin-case on the table. 

His lips pale and set, his olive skin livid, his 
knees shaking under him with eagerness, he 
approached it. His hands were on the cover — it 
yielded, opened, and — Mother of God ! — there lay 
the object of his desire in her bed of purple velvet ! 

Bambo’s eyes blazed. His fingers stretched out 
to seize her. Suddenly he arrested himself. Was 
it an impulse of compunction at the wrong he was 
about to commit ? Ah, no ! The German had 
taught him to come to his lessons with clean hands, 
and the boy’s fingers still bore the stains of his day’s 
labor. How dared he touch her with grimy hands? 

He flew to the washstand, in his haste spilling 
the water all around him ; while he kept his head 
turned over his shoulder, as in fear that the case 
would disappear if he left it out of sight. 

Having dried himself carefully he returned to 


FURONO AM ATI. 


57 


the table. But a strange shyness stole over him. 
He stood before the open case, feasting his eyes on 
the brown glossy beauty — with the clear, golden 
sheen that distinguishes the genuine Amati — as a 
lover would look upon his adored in her slumber. 
At last, softly, timidly, his fingers stole near. He 
touched her ! A thrill went through his nerves, 
but the contact emboldened him. With a quick 
motion he lifted the violin from the box. But still 
he held her reverently, at a distance, caressing with 
one slender brown hand the polished wood. Acci- 
dentally he touched the strings, and a faint, musical 
sound emanated from the instrument like a sigh. 

The blood rushed to Bambo’s face. Had she 
spoken to him? She was not displeased at his 
touch ; did she mean to encourage him ? He lifted 
her to his face and pressed his lips upon her, first 
gently, then with increased ardor. Gradually his 
excitement gave place to perfect calm. He felt 
happy, exquisitely happy. He had attained what 
he had wished for — no, not yet ; not all ! She 
must speak to him ! 


58 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


He put the violin into position and seized the 
bow. Caressingly he pressed his chin upon her, 
whispering half audible words of endearment and 
supplication. “ Oh, Amati ! My beloved one, wilt 
thou speak to me ? Wilt thou sing to me now ? 
lo t'amo! lo t^amo^'’ 

His hand trembled again so that he could scarcely 
guide the bow. The first stroke produced a shrill, 
discordant shriek. Bambo nearly fainted; beads 
of perspiration gathered on his pale brow. Had 
she expressed resentment? Softly, tenderly, he 
tried again. The answer came like a moan, deep 
and hoarse ! 

A terrible pang of fear crept into the boy’s 
heart. What if he could not make her sing ? What 
if she utterly refused to yield her sweetness to him ; 
to any one but her master ? 

She should ! She should ! He would compel her ! 

He sat down, trying to steady his nerves. He 
strove to remember all that Christopher had taught 
him — it was in vain! Nothing but discord was 
awakened by his strokes ; and under his desperate 


FURONO AM ATI. 


59 


attempts, the violin shrieked and moaned as in 
bodily agony ! 

Cruel disenchantment lamed Bambo’s arm at 
last. For a while he sat quite still, holding the 
violin listlessly as if stupefied by the throbbing 
pain in his head. Then a blind rage, like a demon, 
took possession of the boy. Hot tears gushed from 
his eyes. He sprang to his feet ; he raved ; he 
swore 1 Then, grasping the violin with both hands, 
he lifted her high above his head. With a cry like 
a wounded animal’s, he dashed her to the ground, 
stamping upon her with both feet ; grinding her into 
splinters, until she lay a shapeless mass, destroyed 
forever — murdered ! Murdered by her lover ! 

Suddenly the key turned in the lock ; the door 
opened. Christopher had returned ! The boy 
faced him; they glared at each other. 

The German aghast at what he saw ; the boy 
defiant, contemptuous. 

“ Sanfiero ! What have you done ? ” 

“ Ha ! She would not sing for me ; so I have 
killed her !” 


60 


FUEONO AM ATI. 


Then the German’s self-control gave way. Beside 
himself with rage, he pounced upon the hoy. He 
beat him ; he choked him ; he threw him to the 
ground. The child was like a pigmy in the grasp 
of a giant. He offered no resistance, and lay where 
he fell ; his eyes closed, on his lips still the sneer, 
a dark stream of blood trickling from the corner of 
his mouth. 

The sight struck the German with terror and 
recalled him to himself. Had he killed the lad? 
Heavenly Father ! What a brute he was ! How 
much worse his deed than that of the boy ! 

He lifted the little lifeless form and carried it to 
his own bed, clean and tidy, though rather coarse. 
He bathed the boy’s head and chest with cold water. 
Then he fetched a little flask of brandy and infused 
a little of the liquor between the boy’s clenched 
teeth, but though he could feel the weak flutter of 
the pulse, it was long before signs of returning 
life became stronger and the lad’s heavy eyelids 
quivered and opened. 

Then a great sob of thankfulness, like a prayer. 


FURONO AM ATI. 


61 


arose in the German’s throat. He hastened to fetch 
the boy’s mother, and went for a physician. 

Waking from dull pain to the dim consciousness 
of having passed through some dire calamity, the 
little Italian looked into the careworn and anxious 
face of the German who was bending over him with 
mingled suspense and relief. 

Christopher ! ” murmured the lad faintly. 

“ Thanks be to God that thou knowest me again, 
my boy!” cried the German. “We have had a 
horribly close shave, both of us ! ” 

But the pale lips of the boy closed as if from a 
spasm of sudden agony. 

“ Why did you not kill me quite ? I wanted to 
die ! ” he muttered faintly. 

“ Hush, hush I Praised be the good God, who 
preserved me from being a murderer I ” 

“ But I — I am a murderer I ” moaned the lad, 
throwing up his thin yellow hands weakly, with a 
gesture of despair. 

“ Do not speak of it, Sanfiero ! Never mention 
it again ! Never breathe of the deed that cost us 


62 


FURONO AM ATI. 


SO dear! We will bear it together, my boy, and 
try to heed the terrible lesson to govern our tem- 
per I ” 

This was the only time, for many years that the 
boy’s misdeed was referred to directly between 
them, but the sinister experience created a bond 
that bound them thereafter with a remembrance 
like that of two shipwrecked mariners who had 
once been cast away upon the same rock. 

Nursed back to life by his faithful friend, the 
Italian became an almost inseparable companion of 
the German, who had refused to give the boy over 
to his dark and cramped quarters, after he had 
looked upon them for the first time. He had in- 
sisted upon keeping him in his own bed, where, 
with the assistance of Bambo’s mother, who never 
quite comprehended what had taken place, he 
tended the boy with untiring devotion. When at 
last he was fully restored, Christopher still would 
not listen to any talk of separation, and a compact 
was agreed upon finally, by which the boy was 
resigned almost absolutely to his keeping, while 


FURONO AM ATI. 


63 


the mother attended to their meals and mended 
their clothes ; for which the carpenter paid her a 
small weekly stipend, as a housekeeper. 

Bambo’s music lessons however were abandoned, 
and the violin that had served him for his first in- 
struction was laid away out of sight. On the other 
hand, the German bent his best energies upon im- 
parting to his protSge all he possessed himself of 
knowledge, besides initiating him into the require- 
ments of his craft. He worked a little more in- 
dustriously himself, and often employed the little 
Italian as his assistant when called upon in pursu- 
ance of his trade. 

It was thus that Bambo gained his first intro- 
duction into the houses of the rich. Christopher 
was known as a skilled artisan and often was called 
upon to finish off the more delicate woodwork of a 
gentleman’s mansion, or even mend a rare cabinet 
in a lady’s parlor. The boy, who frequently ac- 
companied him to lend a hand, stared at first, with 
undisguised admiration of the lavish display of 
wealth and extravagance. But the German, as has 


64 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


been said, was a good deal of a philosopher and 
pointed out to him, in his simple, straightforward 
way, that, after all, wealth but increases one’s 
necessities, often without satisfying the craving of 
heart and mind. 

“ When you have had enough to eat, what does 
it matter whether you have filled your stomach 
with bread or cake ? The cake would be more 
likely to interfere with your sleep afterwards, or 
cause you the pangs of indigestion. I, for my 
part, do not envy them their gilt and varnish, 
which require such constant looking after and 
repairing.” 

There was nothing in his behavior toward his 
patrons that approached servility, though he was 
uniformly polite, and Bambo observed that he was 
treated in return, invariably, with the frank, 
American respect for a man’s worth, whatever 
might be his calling. 

The influence of the sturdy German upon the 
Italian boy was in every way a wholesome one, 
yet it could not extricate him from the brooding, 


FUROJSfO AMATL 


65 


deep-seated dejection, into which the episode with 
the Amati had augmented his taciturn frame of 
mind. The loss he had inflicted upon his friend 
by the destruction of his favorite violin oppressed 
him with the sense of never-to-be-repaid obligation, 
and the memory of the calamity hung ever like a 
dark cloud over their familiar intercourse. With 
the jealous greed of a miser, the boy hoarded each 
piece of money that fell to his share, urged by a 
desperate hope, that, in some far-off time, he might 
accumulate enough to purchase a new instrument 
for his teacher, though he could never replace 
the old. 

But again fate, with the apparent generosity 
that so often works to our own undoing, lent itself 
to further his design in a way of which Bambo had 
never dreamed ; and again it was the vision of the 
girl-stranger who had intertwined her memory 
with his destiny, that led to the fulfillment of his 
wishes. 

It was on a pleasant spring morning that Bambo 
sauntered down the Fifth Avenue, carrying a box 


66 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


of carpenter’s tools, with which he was to betake 
himself to the mansion of a rich merchant, where 
Christopher was engaged in a job. The lad had 
nearly completed his twelfth year and was still 
slender, almost to emaciation. But his olive com- 
plexion bore a more healthful glow and he stepped 
out with the elastic stride of boyhood. A hand- 
some little fellow he would have been but for the 
deep scowl that disfigured his face. 

Drawn up to the carriage step, in front of an 
imposing dwelling, stood a dog-cart whose im- 
patient steed was chafing against the restraint of 
the groom, who held it tightly by the bit. An 
elderly gentleman, stout, and somewhat unwieldy, 
was in the act of mounting, while a girl of perhaps 
ten or eleven years of age, was already seated, 
holding the reins in her little gloved hands. 

Of a sudden the horse reared and plunged, throw- 
ing off the hold of the groom, and precipitating 
the gentleman back to the sidewalk by a lurch of 
the dog-cart. The girl screamed, but held on to 
the side of her seat. The reins had dropped from 


FUBONO AMATI. 


67 


her fingers. Bambo, his attention aroused by her 
cry, looked at her — Santa Maria ! It was the girl 
Isabel ! 

The horse was dashing wildly up the avenue, 
distancing the elderly gentleman and the groom 
who strove to catch up with him. Like a flash 
the turnout was upon the Italian boy, but casting 
aside his tools, he flung himself upon the horse, 
grabbing him by the neck, and, by a luck}^ chance, 
getting hold of the reins. The steed champed and 
reared, lifting the boy bodily from the pavement 
in its efforts to get away from him. But Bambo 
held him with the clutch of frantic excitement, 
and in a few moments help was by his side. Then 
he gave one look at the girl who was now crying 
hysterically. He had been mistaken — it was not 
Isabel ! and Bambo, with a stinging pain, fell in a 
faint upon the stones. 

“ Take him to my house, the brave little fellow,” 
the gentleman faltered, overcome with fright and 
relief. “ He must be hurt ! and he has saved my 
daughter’s life.” 


68 


FURONO AM ATI. 


When consciousness returned, with an agony 
of distress in his arm, Banibo found himself in the 
hands of a physician, stretched out on the silken 
cushions of a lounge, in a magnificent apartment. 
The stout gentleman was there, and several 
servants ; but no one whom the boy knew. 

As soon as he manifested his return to life, the 
gentleman overwhelmed him with praises and 
thanks, but Bambo turned his head away and mut- 
tered, 

“ It was not Isabel ! ” 

“ Give him time ; he is a little confused yet 
naturally,” the doctor said. “ A dislocated 
shoulder is no joke to a little fellow like that. 
But he will be all right, shortly. He might have 
fared a good deal worse. Wait till he feels a little 
better, and we will ask him where he belongs and 
send him home.” 

“ He shall not go until he wants to ! ” protested 
the gentleman, “ and I mean to reward him well 
for his bravery. Good Heaven ! but for him my 
only child might have been killed ! ” 


FUnONO AMATL 


69 


But Bambo continued to show utter indifference 
to his position as a hero. He wanted to get to 
Christopher without further delay. 

“ He is waiting for the tools,” he urged. 

“ He must come here and get them then ; or I 
will send a man. You are not fit to carry them,” 
the gentleman persisted. “The groom has gathered 
them up and they are safe ; but you shall not go 
without reward. Is there nothing at all that you 
wish for ? ” 

Then a sudden gleam came into the boy’s eyes. 

“ Yes. I want a violin ! ” 

“A violin? Bless my soul ! You shall have 
the best one to be bought in New York ! I will 
go with you myself, and buy you whatever you 
like.” 

“ But it must be an old one ; very old,” ex- 
plained Bambo eagerly. The old gentleman 
stared. 

“ Well, I don’t know much about fiddles,” he 
said. “ My brother Josh, if he was alive now, he 
might help you to get a good one. He was always 


70 


FURONO AMATL 


a sort of crank on the subject. There’s an old 
fiddle of his somewhere about the house now, that 
he set great store by. A Straddlevarious, he 
called it, I think.” 

Bambo arose excitedly, but the pain in his 
shoulder almost conquered him. 

“ Would you give me that one ? ” he asked be- 
tween his teeth. 

“ Of course, my lad, if you want it ; and I don’t 
know but that it is a first-rate one, if you know 
how to handle it. Josh paid a heap of money for 
it, he told me ; but it is yours and welcome. You 
Italian fellows, somehow, seem to belong to a 
fiddle.” 

Christopher had returned to his home perplexed 
by the failure of the boy to join him with the 
tools. Of the run-away on the avenue he had not 
heard anything. Finding the tools gone, he pre- 
pared to set out to look for the lad, when the door 
burst open and Bambo entered, his arm in a sling ; 
pale as death, but radiant and with eyes blazing. 


FURONO AM ATI. 


71 


In his uninjured arm he hugged a big black violin 
case. 

“ Chris — Chris — Christopher ! ” he stammered. 
“ I have brought you a Straduarius ! I give it to 
you ; it is yours ! ” 

With that he threw himself into the German’s 
arms, and sobbed for very joy. 

He was a changed lad from that day forth. The 
music lessons were resumed, and Bambo worked 
and played with a joyful energy that astonished 
and delighted his friend and teacher. With the 
intuition of genius, he supplemented the resources 
of his instructor from his own musical inspiration, 
and after a time, it became Christopher’s turn to 
listen with joy and admiration to the melodies 
produced by his pupil. 


72 


FURONO AM ATI, 


II. 

He was but a slender youth, this young musi- 
cian, who stood so calmly, gracefully poised before 
the vast audience in the Academy of Music. 

From the long, narrow slit between his half 
closed eye-lids his glance wandered, half trium- 
phantly, half disdainfully, over the fashionable 
assemblage, that had gathered to listen to the 
strains of his violin. 

When he lifted his bow, with the graceful wrist- 
motion of the expert violinist, the stir and flutter 
among the throng died away in respectful silence, 
and from the first note to the last vibrating chord, 
his hearers sat in hushed admiration, until at the 
close their enthusiasm found vent in a storm of 
applause, during which the young artist withdrew, 
with scarcely relaxed gravity of mien and a bow 


Funojsro amatl 


73 


that might have been awkward had his lithe, per- 
fectly proportioned figure permitted of a gesture 
not pleasing in effect. 

Many of his listeners perhaps heard him play 
for the first time, but, as Sanfiero’s name had be- 
come prominent of late among the votaries of 
music, or those who affected to be such, they were 
with one accord ready to fall down and worship 
this new idol, this fashionable plaything, which 
society had set up for itself in its mad chase after 
new sensations. 

A young barbarian he was, according to their 
creeds, but his utter want of conventional polish 
was set down by them as the excusable eccentricity 
of genius. 

Scarce more than a lad in years was he, with a 
face of half-savage beauty, the down of early man- 
hood accentuating the proudly curved outline of 
his upper lip. He carried his supple, slender 
form, with the assurance and firmness of perfect 
self-possession, which comes early to those who 
meet life and its complications in single combat. 


74 


FUBONO AMATL 


“ A mere lad,” they called him, yet he could 
sway their jaded sensibilities to renewed energy of 
emotion by his marvellous playing, and awaken 
their lethargic imagination from its deadly inertia. 
The eyes of women, abnormally brilliant from the 
use of belladonna, would soften and veil them- 
selves in unaccustomed moisture, and the sated 
languor of the “ men of the world ” re-kindled into 
glowing ardor, under the seductive strains that 
fell upon their ears. 

But he, the young artist, regarded them mean- 
while with his sphinx-like imperturbability. He 
met the extravagant laudations of his admirers 
with a shrug, half of remonstrance, half of distaste, 
and when the performance was over, he replaced 
his violin in its case, soberly but tenderly, and 
trudged homeward on foot, though many a seat on 
the swelling cushions of private equipages was 
proffered to carry him in triumph to scenes of 
festivity, where his presence would have been 
esteemed a crowning favor. 

Indeed Sanfiero bade fair to reach the pinnacle 


FUBONO AMATL 


75 


of fame at this early stage of his musical career ; 
a circumstance that caused him a sort of cynical 
wonder. He had reached his social eminence 
almost without an effort. Through the interces- 
sion of his friend, the German carpenter, he had 
been given a minor part in the orchestra of a small 
theatre. His playing had attracted the attention 
of the leader, and, step by step, he had risen to 
more prominent parts, until, at a private concert, 
for the benefit of the pet charity of a wealthy 
lady, he had captured the fancy of the patroness, 
who, rejoicing in the discovery of a new genius, 
had exerted her influence in his behalf. 

Sanfiero, the young Italian violinist, became the 
fashion, and no musicale was considered perfect 
without a contribution from his bow. Engage- 
ments showered upon him. The prominent cater- 
ers to public amusement came forward with flatter- 
ing and profitable offers, and Sanfiero with his 
characteristic grimace, half a frown, half a disdain- 
ful smile, permitted himself to be carried omvard 
by the waves of public favor. 


76 


FtlkONO AM ATI. 


He was passionately fond of his art for its own 
sake. That it should become the means of enrich- 
ing him was an unlooked-for result, and he put 
aside the money that flowed into his pocket, and 
continued his simple habits of life. He was not so 
proud, by far, of the flattering recognition which 
his musical as well as personal gifts obtained for 
him, as his old friend and patron, Christopher, the 
German carpenter ; his friend and comrade still, in 
their mutual prosperity. 

Sanfiero’s mother had died years before, of a 
fever, but his loneliness had knitted the bond 
between him and the German the closer. Christo- 
pher had fallen heir to a moderate income which 
permitted him to spend his life in simple comfort 
and independence, and the two still lived together, 
though in rooms somewhat more commodious and 
in a better quarter of the city, than in the old days ; 
still of a Bohemian simplicity that would have 
caused Sanfiero’s fashionable patronesses to stare in 
dismay. And thither the young artist returned 
after his nightly triumphs, not unfrequently dis- 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


77 


posed to grumble because his good fortune brought 
in its train much that annoyed the youth. 

“What fools these women are ! ” he would mor- 
alize, throwing a crumpled billet-doux to Christo- 
pher, for the lighting of his pipe. 

“ Why can’t they confine themselves to business ? 
I give them music ; they pay. I am content, but 
they want more. They say silly things, and what 
is worse, they write them. What will they ? I 
am not of them ! They are moths with golden 
wings ; but brush off the gold-dust, and nothing is 
left of them but soulless, insignificant creatures.” 

Christopher looked at him with an indulgent 
chuckle. 

“ You are famous — and good-looking ; that is 
what women like,” he would answer. “But you 
are young, very young yet. Most men would like 
it well enough. Why do you dislike them ? It is 
not natural in one of your temperament to be so 
wise.” 

“ When I was a little lad they- gathered their 
skirts away from my touch, and called me ‘ a dirty 


78 


FURONO AM ATI. 


brat’ — all but one. — Have I changed my skin? ” 

“ No, but you keep it cleaner,” grinned his friend. 
“ One cannot blame them so very much.” 

“ The men are more sensible,” Sanfiero con- 
tinued. “ They are civil enough, but they don’t 
ask me to give them my heart, to make a plaything 
of it. I take their money, and I give them what 
they pay for; but they cannot buy my liberty. 
My life shall be my own.” 

“ O well, my lad ; go your own gait, your 
time will come, I doubt not.” And the German 
enveloped himself in clouds of tobacco smoke, 
while he, who might have supped upon the deli- 
cacies of the season in Beauty’s halls, partook of a 
luncheon of bread and cheese before retiring. 

Christopher often continued oblivious of the 
flight of time long after Sanfiero had forgotten his 
grievances in the sound slumber of youth. Send- 
ing forth clouds of smoke he would follow their 
convolutions, and his speculative thoughts at the 
same time. He was proud of the boy, as he still 
loved to call him from old habit, though he well 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


79 


knew that the passions of Sanfiero’s southern tem- 
perament lay crouched for a sudden leap into man- 
hood. Reflecting upon the manifold allurements 
of success and flattery that surrounded the youth, 
he felt afraid sometimes for his moral fortitude in 
the future. 

But Sanfiero’s safety lay in his love for his art ; 
in that and a mysterious influence that hung like a 
mist over his memory. The recollection of a face 
met in the long ago. Of this, however, he con- 
fided to his violin alone. It was to her that he im- 
parted his secret dreams and aspirations, and from 
her he drew in return the siren’s song of a hope 
which he could not have formulated in words. 

Often when his listeners thrilled under the im- 
passioned chords evoked by his bow, and the cheeks 
of women reddened from the quick pulsations of 
their heart-blood, while the glances of men flashed 
more boldly, Sanfiero, all forgetting, was but pour- 
ing forth this secret vehemence of an innermost 
longing that could find no other outlet. It was 
the longing for an ideal, which, search as he might, 


80 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


had ever evaded him in the course of his existence. 

Great ladies petted him ; exclusive aristocrats 
would fain have admitted him to the intimacy of 
their friendship. He was a genius, a prodigy ; 
above all, — ^he was the fashion ! And they would 
have prostrated themselves before their chosen idol 
had he permitted them. But at every new intro- 
duction to one in their ranks, after one swift, 
searching glance from his lustrous dark eyes, the 
heavy lids would veil again the smothered fire in 
their depths, and no effort of homage, no blandish- 
ment of beauty availed to draw more from him 
than a momentary smile that was barely courteous, 
while he returned the languishing glances of his 
admirers with an indifference that bordered upon 
impertinence. 

But: “He is only a lad,” said the women. 
“ What can he know of love ? Some day he will 
become a superb lover ! ” 

And : “ He is only a lad,” said the men. “ He 

loves only his violin, and some day he will be her 
greatest master ! ” 


FURONO AMATL 


81 


“ He is only a lad,” mused the German carpenter 
over his pipe, “ and he loves music ; but some day 
he will love a woman, and he will love her 
madly I ” 

And then, with a sudden pang of apprehension, 
he remembered the Amati ! 

Meanwhile, Sanfiero thought little of the prefer- 
ences shown him. With the sublime arrogance of 
genius he accepted them as a due tribute to his 
art. 

“ I am not of them,” he had said ; but with no 
sense of inferiority, but rather as a contemptuous 
disclaimer of the frivolity of their circle. 

Raised from the gutter, one might say, uplifted 
and ennobled by the sublimity of genius high 
above his station in life, the advantages of culture 
and refinement seemed to him trivial and imagi- 
nary, because he could not understand them. He 
expected not much of life, beyond being fed and 
clothed and to have plenty of music — always mu- 
sic ; and in the end, perhaps, the fulfillment of that 

secret, devouring longing to look once more into 
6 


82 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


the face of his ideal ; the face that had ever pur- 
sued, though as persistently escaped him. As far 
back as he could remember, almost, this vague hope 
had lived within him. 

And then — ? There was nothing beyond that, 
for the present, that came within the radius of 
Sanfiero’s imagination. But fate, cruel, inevitable, 
lay waiting ; biding its time to let the passions 
mature that lay dormant in the hot blood of the 
young Italian. 

It was a gala-night at the Academy, and all the 
most pretentious, the most proud of wealth, of fame, 
of beauty had gathered to lend lustre to the occa- 
sion: a concert in support of a popular and 
patriotic purpose. 

Sanfiero, as usual, the star of the evening, was 
to be heard in a composition of his own, rendered 
in public for the first time. In his customary at- 
titude, half of indifference, half of self-conscious 
power, he stood facing the vast assemblage. From 
under their long sheltering lashes his fiery southern 


FURONO AMATL 


83 


eyes wandered slowly over the rows of fashionable 
men and women, who were waiting with flattering 
attention for his opening chords. In the boxes, 
conversation was hushed with more prompt defer- 
ence to the artist than is usual, and fair women, 
resplendent of attire and glistening with gems on 
their hare arms and shoulders, leaned forward and 
flxed their operarglasses upon the young musician. 

This challenge of thousands of eyes did not dis- 
concert him. No answering smile played about 
the proudly curved lips. Almost absently, his 
glances flew from face to face, with that singular 
soupfon of seeking some one, which had so often 
been observable in his manner. But suddenly 
Christopher, who was perched among the wings, 
unseen from the front of the house, saw the slender 
flgure start and tremble. Sanflero’s dusky olive 
skin turned to waxen pallor. His eyes flashed 
wide open, shooting a scintillating glance into the 
box nearest to him. His lips moved as if to emit 
some rapid words, born of quick impulse — but, in 
a moment he controlled himself, lifting his violin 


84 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


with a swift, graceful motion and di*awing the bow 
across the strings. 

Christopher, following Sanfiero’s glance, strained 
forward and examined the occupants of the box, 
that had so electrified his young friend. But they 
were strangers to him, all but one, a gentleman 
well known about town, a rising merchant with a 
reputation for extraordinary business abilities, and 
a rapidly growing bank-account: a tall, slightly 
angular man with dark side-whiskers and hair al- 
ready streaked with gray. 

In the foreground of the box sat two ladies, one 
a stout middle-aged woman of haughty mien, in 
gorgeous apparel; fairly ablaze with diamonds. 
The other, more quietly though scarcely less richly 
attired, bore herself with the calm poise of an 
acknowledged leader in the ranks of wealth and 
fashion. 

Between them, leaning back in her chair, as if 
to withdraw a little from her conspicuous position 
sat a young girl, very young, very pretty ; the fair 
beauty of a child still blending with that of young 


FUBONO AMATI. 


85 


maidenhood. She was quite simply dressed in 
creamy white silk, and the clustering gold of her 
curls was her only adornment. 

The milk and rose complexion of the tender, 
though slightly insipid countenance, seemed to 
deepen gradually into carmine under the flashing 
glance of the young musician, while her limpid blue 
eyes gazed back at him, half bashful, half startled, 
and the delicate rose-bud lips opened with question- 
ing surprise. 

But Christopher’s puzzled conjectures in regard 
to the Italian’s suddenly evinced emotion, were in- 
creased to absolute wonderment at the rush of 
melody that burst upon his ear like a cry of triumph 
or rejoicing. He scrutinized Sanfiero sharply, but 
the pale lids again concealed the fire of his dark 
orbs, and his agitation betrayed itself in the strains 
of his instrument alone. 

The audience might regard it as a brilliant pre- 
lude, but Christopher knew too well that this was not 
a part of the composition, long familiar to him from 
many home rehearsals. He felt more £ind more 


86 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


perplexed as the music continued. Odd snatches 
of melody these were, runs and trills as of rippling 
laughter ; the chattering of merry child-voices, 
with here and there a staccato note, like a joyful 
shout. 

What was the lad thinking about ? the German 
asked himself uneasily. He recognized musical 
phrases now and then that he had often heard 
before when Sanfiero sat dreaming over his violin 
in the gloaming. 

The listeners, unsuspecting that this was not the 
music prepared for their hearing, sat spellbound 
under the exquisite purity and sweetness of the 
cadences, though here and there a face looked 
puzzled as to their interpretation. 

All at once the young musician dropped his bow, 
interrupting himself in a passage that was merging 
into confused sounds . His chin sank upon his breast 
and the hand holding the instrument dropped by 
his side listlessly, while his glance rested upon the 
floor. An awkward silence fell upon the house, 
then a stir, and murmur. What was amiss ? 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


87 


At this critical moment a friendly hand started 
the applause, and in an instant the audience 
followed the lead. What did they care if Sanfiero’s 
conduct was inexplicable and eccentric ? He was 
the fashionable favorite of the hour and his 
vagaries were to be excused, and even respected. 

But the burst of acclamation aroused the artist 
from his untimely abstraction, and raising his hand 
deprecatingly, with regained self-control he stepped 
firmly into his usual posture and proceeded with 
the opening strains of the formally announced 
concerto. 

Never had he played with more power; with 
more masterly beauty of touch and phrasing. Clear 
and pure and grand the notes swelled and flowed 
under his inspired touch, and as the melody rose 
and fell, the musician’s face and form became trans- 
figured as with inward fire. A glow of almost 
supernatural joy suffused the dusky pallor of his 
olive complexion ; the lithe, graceful limbs seemed 
tense with suppressed energy, and Christopher saw 
the lightning-glance dart with a flash of triumph 


88 


FURONO AM ATI. 


now and again toward the box whence his inspira- 
tion seemed to flow. 

At the finish the young composer who had thus 
added new laurels to his fame, was overwhelmed 
with enthusiastic demonstrations of approval. 
Sanfiero bowed low, and with a last parting inclina- 
tion toward the box retired hastily behind the 
scenes. 

His friends crowded around him ; musicians, 
dilettanti, men of fashion, messengers sent by fair 
ladies, with congratulations and invitations. 
Sanfiero withdrew from them all, as quickly as 
bare courtesy would permit, dragging Christopher 
away with him in his feverish haste to leave the 
house. 

“ What on earth is the matter with you ? Who 
were the people in that box ? Do you know the 
girl ? ” questioned the German as he breathlessly 
strove to keep by Sanfiero’s side, who, with flying 
steps, passed into the street where he summoned a 
cab, to escape the crowd outside. But the young 
Italian sank into a corner of the vehicle, leaving it 


FUROlSfO AM ATI. 


89 


to Christopher to direct the driver to their home. 
A strange, new elation shone in his dark face, 
which somehow, his friend could not entirely in- 
terpret as triumph at his musical success. 

But : “ Later,” was all the ansAver he could 
get; andSanfiero evidently meant to keep his secret, 
for, when they had reached their destination and 
Christopher had opened the door with his latch- 
ke}^ he did not follow him in. 

“ Do not sit up for me. I must have a walk 
before I can sleep,” and ere his companion could 
remonstrate, or offer to accompany him, he had 
quite passed out of hearing. The German ascended 
to their rooms, grumbling uneasily at this new 
departure in the conduct of his young friend. 

“ What the deuce has got into the boy ? I hope 
he has not fallen in love with that pretty doll in 
the box, in this sudden fashion ; for he might as 
well cry for the moon ! ” 

He lit his pipe and smoked deep into the night, 
but Sanfiero came not. He fell asleep where he 
sat and when at last he was aroused from his uneasy 


90 


FURONO AM ATI. 


position he observed that the dawn was creeping 
into the chamber and that the young musician had 
only just returned from his nocturnal ramble. But 
Christopher asked no more questions. 

During the weeks that followed, Sanfiero retired 
into a dreamy mood, interrupted by spells of almost 
feverish excitement. Christopher watched him 
silently but intently. If the youth observed it, he 
gave no sign, but more likely he was entirely 
absorbed by the new impulse that had taken pos- 
session of him. More taciturn than ever, his faith- 
ful friend could gain his only clue to Sanfiero’s 
varying moods from the strains of his violin, into 
which, as usual, he poured his innermost thoughts. 
And variable enough they became at last ; now 
doubtful and uncertain, now joyous to triumph ; 
and again, despondent, hopeless, despairing. 

In Christopher dwelt the sympathetic under- 
standing of his art. Though he rarely touched a 
bow now, he was too intimately acquainted with 
this instrument with the human voice, not to in- 
terpret its utterances intelligently. The youth 


FURONO AMATL 


91 


was devoured by the burning torments of passion, 
and it needed not words to convey this to Chris- 
topher, when the violin poured out his tale of doubt 
and hope and longing. It was a mystery, this 
suddenly unfolded romance, which seemed to have 
sprung into existence with a bound ; still Chris- 
topher would not force his young friend’s confidence 
and waited in silence. 

With touching delicacy, tender as that of a 
woman, the burly German cared for his companion’s 
comfort, attending to the duties of their little 
mSnage entirely himself, that Sanfiero might follow 
the bent of his inclinations undisturbed. If the 
young musician returned from a concert or private 
musicale in elation of spirits, he met him with 
cheerful words of approval, and at times the youth 
seemed to bubble over, fairly, with light-heartedness 
and merriment, quite foreign to his former manner. 
But at other times he would come home downcast 
and dejected, and Christopher not seeming to 
notice, would move about quietly, and ask no 
questions about the evening’s happening. 


92 


FURONO AMATL 


Thus it went on for many days. Sanfiero went 
out oftener at night and stayed later than had been 
his custom. He did not relate his daily experiences 
as of old, though Christopher knew that he went 
more into the home circle of his wealthy patrons, 
and frequented their entertainments when oppor- 
tunity offered. 

His friend missed the old confidence sadly, yet 
shrank as with a foreboding of coming evil, from 
the revelations he still awaited with hidden impa- 
tience. One evening, however, Sanfiero returned 
late, with a clouded brow and feverishly burning 
eyes, betraying so fierce a suffering of mental 
wretchedness that his aspect goaded Christopher 
into protest. 

“No use trying to hide it any longer, my lad,” 
he urged, laying his hands kindly upon the shoulders 
of the youth as he stood looking out of the window, 
his back turned upon his friend. “ Speak, and it 
will ease your mind. I know all about the ailment 
anyhow ; it’s the old story ! But who is she ? ” 
Sanfiero winced under his touch, but turned with 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


93 


a flash of self-assertion, as if to cut off all remon- 
strances in advance. 

“ It is Isabel, the girl who stepped on my toe in 
the Square.” His voice was low, but firm. 

Christopher looked at him for a moment, trying 
to understand ; then the recollection of the Italian’s 
fruitless search, during the years of his boyhood, 
came to him. He had long ceased to think about 
it, as Sanfiero had not referred to the incident for a 
long time. 

“You are sure of it?” he asked wonderingly, 
“ and it was no Will-o’-the-wisp, as I used to 
think, that you have been chasing all these years ? 
How did you recognize her?” 

“ I would have known her at once, in any place 
— and I did — among a thousand ! She was the 
girl in that box, sitting between the two women.” 

“ And you have met her, and spoken to her 
since ? Does she, too, remember the childish act 
that made such an enduring impression upon 
you ? ” 

“ I see her often,” Sanfiero answered with dark- 


94 


FURONO AM ATI. 


ening brow, “but never alone. I have not yet 
spoken to her, except with the violin ; but I am 
sure that she understands me, for her eyes answer 
mine.” 

“ But, my dear boy, this is sheer folly 1 You 
recognize a girl in a crowd, whom you have met 
once, many years ago, when you were both chil- 
dren — granting that she is the same girl — and all 
at once, you give yourself over to a headlong pas- 
sion, without even having spoken a word to her ! 
What do you expect to come of it ? ” 

Sanfiero looked down with a characteristic shrug 
of the shoulders ; then, after a moment’s silence, 
he burst out, as if no longer able to restrain him- 
self : 

“ I have always loved her ! Child as I was, I 
gave her my heart and soul when she first looked 
into my eyes ! I have never ceased to look for 
her. For what else did I let them drag me out 
of my privacy, these slaves of fashion, and try to 
make a puppet, a fool of me ? I knew that sooner 
or later I should meet Isabel among them ; for she 


FUR ON O AM ATI. 


95 


belongs to their class.” He stopped a moment 
for breath, then went on : 

“ They have only just returned from abroad, she 
and her mother, to introduce Isabel to her world. 
They belong to an exclusive set, purse-proud and 
haughty. The mother, a widow, will not allow 
Isabel to go anywhere without her, unless it be 
with that tallow-faced banker ; and to-day I was 
told that she intends her to marry him ; though 
he began by courting the mother, for her wealth ; 
cold-blooded calculating machine that he is, though 
he has money enough of his own. It is talked 
about quite openly ; and also that Isabel will not 
listen to him — nay, that she detests him ! ” 

Again Sanfiero stopped, pacing up and down the 
room with quick, agitated steps, not unlike a 
caged panther, in his lithe, savage grace of motion. 

“ But he shall not have her,” beginning again 
with a sudden burst of passion. “ Let him beware ! 
She is mine ; she is the only woman on earth to me, 
and — mark you, Christopher ! — I have told her so, 
with my violin, and I hnmv she understands ! I 


96 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


shall make her love me ! And then who can 
hinder us from being happy ? ” 

He clenched his fist and was silent. The Ger- 
man gave him time to exhaust his excitement a 
little. He felt shaken by this volcanic outburst, 
though he had ever been conscious of the covered 
fierceness of disposition in the youth ; a hoy no 
longer now ; a man to-day ; matured, ripened, by 
the seething heat of passion ; and Christopher felt 
terribly apprehensive of his future all at once. 

“ Sanfiero ! ” he appealed to him at last, “ what 
can the end he ? ” 

The young Italian stood still. His slender form 
seemed to grow and expand. He lifted his head 
proudly. Boldly his dark, luminous eyes returned 
the glance of his old friend. 

“ I shall marry her ; of course,” he answered, 
firmly. 

“ Don’t be a fool, hoy ! ” exclaimed Christopher 
in alarm. “ Do you think they would let her, even 
if she were willing ? You tell me that she is the 
daughter of a purse-proud aristocrat ; a woman of 


FUBONO AMATL 


97 


wealth and position. Do you imagine she will 
give her child to you^ a poor Italian fiddler, who 
has nothing in the world but his violin ? ” 

“ I have my art ! ” Sanfiero retorted, haughtily. 
“ I have reputation now ; I shall have fame, great- 
ness, in the future ! ” 

“ In the future : aye — God willing — but now ? 
What have you to offer her now ? ” 

“ My love ! ” replied Sanfiero, his eyes blazing. 
He looked handsome, courageous, magnificent ; and 
Christopher’s secret opinion was that he might have 
a good chance with any woman who saw him thus. 
But he knew too well the impregnable obstacles 
prejudice would place in the young man’s way, 
from the moment his wooing became obvious to the 
guardians of his lady-love. Still it was not of them 
lie spoke first. 

“ And you think your love alone would suffice 
her ? Even if you could win to yourself this 
spoiled child of luxury, which she cannot help 
being, reared as she has been in her world — her 
7 


98 


FUBONO AMATI. 


world, which of course is very different from 
your 8^'^ 

“ It %hall suffice her ! She will be loved, idol- 
ized, adored, as never woman was before ! I will 
toil for her, slave for her, to make her life all that 
she could wish ! ” 

“ Aye, there speaks the sublime conceit of a 
lover ! I know it will be wasted breath to reason 
with you, but, let me tell you, it must be a love as 
great as genius, that could grant you all that your 
demand implies. Sacrifice of all that she has been 
taught to hold dear ; wealth, social position, early 
associations — nay, even, perhaps, her mother’s love ! 
all to link herself for life to an utter stranger ; a 
stranger not only by accident, but also by nativity, 
tastes, training ; by the thousand trifling differences 
of every-day habits. There have been such loves 
of women, we are told, but is she capable of it, this 
girl, whom you have set up as the idol of your 
heart’s shrine ? ” 

The young Italian looked at his friend, to whom 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


99 


his fears lent eloquence, with startled attention. 
Christopher continued : 

“ You say you have not even spoken to her in 
words. How do you know, that, in gaining your 
hearts’ desire, you will not discover in her, too late, 
the hollow puppet, you well know society is apt to 
fashion of its women ? You are ready to cast your 
heart, your soul, at her feet ; are you sure that your 
bauble is worth the purchase-money ? *' 

With a gesture of offended, disdainful dismissal, 
Sanfiero turned away. “ You do not understand,” 
he muttered. But Christopher would not be 
silenced thus. 

“ Very well,” he went on, “ we will grant, then, 
that she is all your fancy paints her ; that she is 
noble ; that she is true ; that she is worthy of a 
man’s utmost devotion ; are you sure of yourself 
and your power ? If you take her from her sphere, 
by force of your own passion, are you confident of 
inspiring in her its return, to the degree of making 
her renounce all the ties of her past ? And can 
you give her the lasting compensation, which she 


100 


FURONO AM ATI. 


cannot fail to need, throughout the life which she 
must spend with you, in circumstances so altered, so 
curtailed, compared with those to which she is 
accustomed ? 

“ Love asks nothing but love in return,” per- 
sisted Sanfiero, though during his friend’s impres- 
sive argument, shadows of doubt began to flit 
through his expressive features. 

“ Love in return ; perhaps yes, if one can at all 
times awaken the response. But what when you 
fail? You both would suffer. Nay, my boy, do 
not protest ! It is not your love that I doubt. I 
have known you too long to think that your con- 
stancy could waver. But think of the difficulties 
you would have to conquer. You will have to 
learn and unlearn a million of trifles before you 
can hope to create the harmony which alone can 
make wedded life endurable. 

“ And this girl, dainty and polished ; the arti- 
ficial creation of a system which you hardly under- 
stand. Oh, Sanfiero ! ” he interrupted himself, 
carried away by impulse, “ remember the Amati ! ” 


FUEONO AM ATI. 


101 


His voice broke ; he stretched his hand out im- 
ploringly to the young Italian. 

The youth turned upon him, at the last appeal, 
as if he had been struck ; his face distorted with 
anguish. Their eyes met for a moment, then, 
covering his face with his arms, Sanfiero sank into 
a chair, groaning aloud. 

Christopher, pale and scarcely less agitated, 
hesitated, then he laid his broad, honest hand 
tenderly upon the young man’s bowed head. 

“ Forgive me,” he pleaded, “ I was cruel ! ” 

Sanfiero looked up to him with sorrowful eyes. 

“ No, you are very wise ! ” he whispered ; and 
his old friend knew that their bond was newly 
cemented. 

Sanfiero had said of Isabel that she understood 
his appeal, and he was not far from right in his 
assertion. At least his instantaneous devotion, 
his absolute surrender of himself from the first 
lightning glance, had flashed its meaning into her 
innocent young heart, with the magic interpre- 
tation which love knows how to convey in its darts. 


102 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


But in his wooing there was not a trace of weak- 
ness ; it carried the force of a demand. A demand 
for recognition, for reward, for reciprocation ; and 
it was this that caused her great bewilderment. 

What did he ask of her ? What could she give 
him ? Isabel was very young, but she had a clear 
enough understanding of her position in the world. 
An offspring of “society,” reared in its tenets, 
confirmed in its prejudices, she was quite conscious 
of the chasms that divide the human race into so 
many coteries of different degrees. She had first 
beheld the young artist crowned with the glory of 
his genius, surrounded by the enthusiastic applause 
of the world — her own world — but she was per- 
fectly aware that in spite of their willingness to 
prostrate themselves before his triumph, Sanfiero 
in a dress-coat, was still, to them, Sanfiero, the man 
of the people. A musical genius they did not 
deny — but still : only an Italian fiddler ! 

The young girl had heard much of his utter in- 
difference to the social preferences offered him, 
of his imperviousness to flattery, his insensibility 


FURONO AM ATI. 


103 


to beauty ! for, as the fashionable favorite of the 
hour, he was naturally the subject of much in- 
quisitive discussion among her set ; therefore, his 
instantaneous, unmistakable homage was doubly 
gratifying and surprising to her. It had electrified 
her, as with the swift message : “It was for you I 
was waiting ! You have come : henceforth I am 
yours alone ! ” 

At the first survey of his dark, proud face, with 
the curved red lips, and the heavy, drooping eye- 
lids, she had experienced a dreamy feeling of famil- 
iarity, and with the sudden flash from his lustrous 
eyes came the vivid confirmation of recognition. 
And yet, where was it that they had met? She 
could not place him in her memory, for the occur- 
rence of the day when she had wounded his foot 
was buried under the flood of passing years. 

Already she was well accustomed to the adula- 
tion of her circle, this little golden butterfly. 
Already the young heiress had had enough of love- 
making from the men of her set, to irritate or 
amuse her, according to circumstances, but San- 


104 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


fiero’s passionate though wordless appeal had 
touched her heart with its deeper romance. Word- 
less? Could words speak more plainly, more 
eloquently, than the entrancing singing of his 
violin ? Did not each chord, each note, tell her of 
his love ? 

Isabel listened, yielded, responded, and gradually, 
irrevocably fell in love for the first time in her 
life. 

They met often, still always separated by the 
gulf which etiquette prescribes between the per- 
former and his audience; yet they were soon as 
united in mutual understanding as if no obstacle 
had intervened. The young girl gave herself up 
to the charm of his musical adoration without a 
thought of the future, and Sanfiero was content — 
for the present — so long as he could call that 
dreamy look of perfect accord to the eyes of his 
beloved. 

Ere long, however, he was aroused from his trance 
of bliss ; alarmed by the rumors whispered around 
him. Isabel’s mother was planning a manage de 


FUBONO AMATI. 


105 


eonvenanee for her daughter, they told him, with 
the wealthy, middle-aged hanker. Not for a 
moment did the thought of his beloved’s connivance 
at such an arrangement enter his mind. He sprang 
at once to the defence of their love, endangered by 
interference, and the purpose ripened, to make 
Isabel all his own. 

But how was he to approach her nearer? It was 
easy enough for him to gain admittance into the 
set in which she moved, by accepting the frequent 
invitations extended to him, by one or the other 
member of it, and so he met her not seldom, at 
suppers after the theatre or concert ; at afternoon 
teas or musicales, and at the receptions where 
artists and the devotees of fashion mingled. 

But Mrs. Ward-Hastings, Isabel’s mother, 
counted herself as nn exclusive of the exclusives. 
To her all art employed in the pursuance of a liveli- 
hood stamped the artist as a tradesman; and as 
such not to be tolerated as an intimate. She 
frowned upon the fad of society that extended a 
hand of fellowship to “ such people,” though she 


106 


FURONO AM ATI, 


was too indolent to oppose herself vigorously to 
the sway of popular whims. But she held herself 
and hers aloof from the familiar contact, as well 
as she could, without offending fashionable usage. 

But at last the supreme moment came when the 
lovers stood face to face alone. Sanfiero pale with 
passion; Isabel rosy in the consciousness of the 
confession of her love, which every feature pro- 
claimed. And there was no need now of wordy 
explanations between the two who had so long 
communed with eloquent glances and still more 
eloquent interpretations of soul-stirring melody ! 

“Isabel!” 

“ Sanfiero ! ” 

All was told in the quick exchange of names ; 
stormy and urgent from the young Italian, a mere 
frightened whisper from the girl. And then the 
world and its distinctions vanislied from their con- 
sciousness, and their hands clasped in silent pledge 
and confirmation of their troth, as sacred and as 
binding as any spoken vows. 

It was at a crowded reception, they met thus 


FURONO AM ATI. 


107 


unobserved ; and the rooms were filled to suffoca- 
tion. Sanfiero having seen his idol disappear from 
the throng with her escort, prepared to leave the 
house, when Isabel, emerging alone from an ante- 
room where a maid had repaired a slight damage 
to the young lady’s toilet, met him at the head of 
a broad staircase. The place was adorned with 
feathery potted palms, and heavy brocade draperies 
veiled the adjoining doors. The lovers were not 
safe from sudden surprise, and Isabel nervously 
tried to escape from his detaining grasp after the 
first greeting. But he caught her to his heart for 
one blissful moment, and touched her cheek with 
his lips. And she yielded to his caress though the 
next instant she had fled, and, covered Avith blushes, 
disappeared from his enraptured gaze. Sanfiero 
carried with him, into the night air the certainty 
of his victory — as far as the young girl’s heart was 
concerned. 

After this he approached her boldly, when next 
they met in public, and despite the severe stare of 
disapproval from her mother, conversed with her a 


108 


FURONO AM ATI. 


little, on music and kindred subjects. He was so 
perfectly respectful, however, and the young lady 
so evidently constrained as she answered him in 
monosyllables, with downcast eyes, that the mater- 
nal vigilance relaxed, suspecting no danger. 

There was not much opportunity for confiden- 
tial intercourse in such momentary meetings, but 
ere long Sanfiero rested assured that he need not 
fear any rival. 

It was of course inevitable that a devotion so 
obvious could not remain unnoticed long by the 
throng in which they moved. Smiles and glances 
were intercepted, and by-and-by whispered com- 
ments flew about among the fashionable friends of 
Isabel and her mother. Here and there a sneer, 
but thinly veiled by polite words, found utterance, 
and the men began to cast black looks upon the 
audacious musician and muttered about “ the im- 
pudence of the fellow.” 

Sanfiero heeded them not. It did not occur to 
him at all to consider himself their inferior. They 
had sought him, flattered him, courted him ; they 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


109 


had urged upon him the hospitality of their homes ; 
their women had made love to him, had sued for 
his favor with encouraging smiles and words — nay, 
with written confessions ; and now, when he came 
to woo one of their rank honestly, manfully; 
ready to lay life and soul at the feet of his chosen 
one, they turned their backs upon him, with de- 
risive smiles and scarcely veiled contempt. 

But what did their disapproval matter to him ? 
He knew that Isabel loved him ; that she would 
willingly be his ; and if they piled their hindrances 
in his way, ever so high, he would find means to 
circumvent them. 

He was a youth of the people — and of a people 
with whom love is an imperative law. Fear he 
knew not ; diplomacy he disdained, and he went 
to the mother of the woman of his choice, and 
frankly, earnestly demanded her hand in marriage. 

It would be impossible to depict the lofty sur- 
prise, the insulting scorn, with which his petition 
was received and refused, by Mrs. Ward-Hastings. 
She called Sanfiero an impudent boy, whose only 


110 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


excuse could be found in bis extreme youth and 
ignorance. Her judgment was founded upon the 
slow development of the northern clime to which 
she owed her being, and, accustomed to reckon a 
man’s age by its decades, she failed to recognize 
that within this slender youth burned the full- 
grown passion of a man. 

She forbade him to approach, or otherwise ad- 
dress her daughter again. Isabel, she said, was 
fond of music, but she surely had not intentionally 
encouraged such presumption on the part of the 
musician, and she would not have her annoyed by 
further demonstration. 

Sanfiero bowed with perfect self-control and as- 
sured her that he should do his best to win her 
daughter’s consent. 

The mother utterly refused to take this proposal 
of “this common fiddler” seriously. To her com- 
prehension the player of the violin was but one of 
a band of strolling vagabonds ; a little cleaner than 
some of them, and with an undeniably superior 
gift of pleasing the ear with his instrument, but 


FUBONO AMATL 


111 


not for a moment, to be considered as “ one of 
them.” This was the consequence of the folly of 
taking up these people, and making much of them, 
until their impertinence knew no bounds. 

She dismissed the young musician from her 
presence and from her mind, as beneath serious 
consideration, and continued to attend his concerts, 
as if nothing had happened, contemptuously re- 
fusing to display any uneasiness on behalf of his 
future movements. 

To Isabel she said nothing ; but the lover found 
means, in spite of the mother’s watchfulness, to 
convey to his beloved a fairly accurate understand- 
ing of what had taken place, and Mrs. Ward-Hast- 
ings observed with dismay the continued perversity 
of her daughter’s fancy. In her worldly wisdom 
she did not argue with the culprit, but prepared 
for a crushing manoeuvre that was to put an end 
to the nonsense, once and for all. 

She found it suddenly imperative for her health 
to make a prolonged pilgrimage to some European 
baths which her physician conveniently prescribed. 


112 


FURONO AM ATI. 


Cards were out for a farewell reception of the 
young heiress, Miss Hastings, previous to her de- 
parture for Europe, and perhaps no one in the 
“ world ” but the dismayed lovers, was sure of the 
motive that thus set the tide against them. Vainly 
Sanfiero, driven to distraction by the impending 
separation, tried to communicate with the young 
lady by word of mouth or in writing. His visits 
were denied, his letters intercepted. And still the 
elder lady met him in public with a frigid civility 
that set all rumors at naught. 

But Mrs. Ward-Hastings, in the over-confidence 
of her vantage over-reached herself in her fancied 
security. The proud aristocrat, in her eagerness 
to refute all suspicions that her retreat was inspired 
by fear of this man of humble origin, whose only 
claim to admittance into her circle was by his vio- 
lin, determined to prove to him, that she appre- 
hended no danger from his presence. 

On the programme provided for the entertain- 
ment of her guests was : “ A violin recital by the 
celebrated young artist. Signor Sanfiero,” 


FUBONO AMATL 


113 


Sanfiero had accepted the challenge boldly ; nerv- 
ing himself as for a decisive encounter. He felt 
that he was to enter upon a contest, on this ominous 
night, for the culmination of his boldest wishes, 
or his utter, hopeless defeat. And he had laid 
his plans accordingly. 

As he stood before the guests of the evening he 
betrayed no sign of his inner agitation. Appar- 
ently calm and self-possessed, he stood in his old 
poise, half indifferent, half haughty. But his 
dusky, olive face showed no trace of color, and the 
half-veiled eyes, black as midnight, sparkled with 
the fever of hope and fear, and the determination 
to win or lose to-night all that was at stake for 
him. 

“ He cannot have cared much, after all,” thought 
those who had before commented on his infatua- 
tion ; the women with sighs, half of relief, half of 
disappointment — for the world loves to look on at 
a romance, albeit a tragedy — and the men with 
complacent satisfaction. 

“ He was shrewd enough to see the absurdity of 
8 


114 


FURONO AM ATI. 


his aspirations to the hand of the heiress, and the 
belle of the season. Now we shall have no more 
nonsense from him,” they said, and they were 
inclined to reward him with redoubled con- 
descension. 

Sanfiero met their conciliating advances with 
his old, inscrutable manner that had ever formed 
a barrier to familiar intercourse between himself 
and his patrons. His proud reserve piqued their 
vanity, and they soon left him to his own devices. 

But if this were to be his last opportunity of 
playing before the mistress of his heart, Sanfiero 
was doing his best to leave a lasting impression. 
Never had he played more divinely ; and his 
listeners soon lost all thought save to give them- 
selves up to the enjoyment of his masterly play- 
ing. 

Like a living voice rose the melody of his 
superb instrument. Pure and yet penetrating like 
liquid fire, the chords swelled under his master- 
hand, thrilling and entrancing his audience into 
rapturous silence. 


FURONO AMATL 


115 


But the artist, as he played, was closely watch- 
ing the object of his adoration from under his 
long, shading lashes, and the fever of his heart 
vibrated in the strings of his violin. If he could 
but make her understand his prayer ! If he could 
but make her love him enough now, to count the 
world well lost in the shelter of his arms ! If he 
could induce her to leave all, and follow him, and 
place herself in his keeping ! 

Isabel felt herself drawn toward him by the 
power of his passion, vaguely at first ; but as the 
impassioned pleading, sweet and low as a lover’s 
voice, touched her heart with its sadness and sor- 
row, the appeal penetrated her innermost soul 
with its meaning, and her pulses began to beat in 
answering throbs. Confused by the strength of 
her own stirred emotions she trembled twixt pain 
and delight. 

Oh, what bliss would it be to listen to him for- 
ever ! What would she not give to call herself 
his own ! What was all the world compared with 
him, who held the key to such feelings as only 


116 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


his music could awaken. He, a king ! a demi- 
god I 

And her lover felt the struggle that swayed her 
soul, observed the tears that started slowly from 
her down-cast eyes, and as he saw them fall, his 
spirit rose in proud rejoicing. Quickly his in- 
strument responded to his emotions. The violin 
stormed, entreated, commanded ! 

How eloquently spoke the strings ! It was 
strange that not every one in that brilliant as- 
semblage understood them as plainly as she did, 
thought Isabel, with a tremor of fear, as she 
shaded her face with her fan. But all were con- 
scious only of the marvelous execution of a 
master-piece such as they had never listened to 
before, and when his bow dropped and he bowed 
low before them they arose with clamorous 
applause and importuned him for more. 

And this w^as the all-important chance for 
which Sanfiero had been planning, and he paled 
still more, under the excitement of the approach- 
ing climax. The encore must be short and 


FUEONO AM ATI, 


117 


decisive ; it must convey to Isabel distinctly what 
he would have her do. Heaven grant that she 
should know the words of his song ! 

He raised his supple, graceful figure to its full 
height, as he put his violin into position again. 
His deep, dark eyes, blazing with excitement, 
rested with intense supplication, that was yet a 
command, upon the face of the young girl, who 
gazed back at him as if fascinated by his glance. 
He cared not who saw him now, if Isabel would 
but fully understand him. 

Bending slightly forward, he drew the bow over 
the strings, with a sound as of a deep-drawn sigh, 
then, quickly and with fire, he sped his message 
to her in Schumann’s spirited music to the lines 
of Heine’s “ Tragedy : ” 

“ Oh flee with me, and be my bride ! 

Close to my heart, thou safe shall rest. 

Thy native land, thy father’s house 
To build anew upon my breast. 

“ Should we not flee, I here must die, 

And leave thee, lonely, evermore. 


118 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


Though shelter’d in thy father’s house, 

A wand’rer, as on foreign shore. 

“ Then flee with me, and be my bride 
Kest on my heart, and peace will come. 

Far, far away, with me abide. 

My heart thy native land and home ! ” 

He stopped and stood in an attitude of absorbed 
suspense. In the dead silence the ritardando of 
the last line seemed to waver in the air. The 
conclusion appeared abrupt and his listeners evi- 
dently expected him to continue. But what had 
he or his future, to do with the ominous “second? ” 
His eyes were still fixed on Isabel, who was 
leaning back in her chair, toying nervously with 
the fan of white ostrich-plumes on her lap. The 
sheen of her golden curls glistening in the blaze of 
gas-jets framed her little patrician head like a 
halo. Her color varied from deepest rose hue to 
sudden pallor and back again with a rush of 
crimson. She felt the burning gaze of her lover 
fix her with consuming power, and slowly, under 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


119 


its strained influence, she raised her head and 
looked him full in the face. 

One rapid flash from eye to eye and he knew 
that she had received and understood his message. 

“ Come to me ! ” commanded his glance. And 
her answer flashed back : “ I will come ! ” 

It was but a moment, quick as an electric shock 
and unobserved by the closest watcher, but it 
sealed the doom of two human beings, swayed and 
controlled by that unfathomable power which fate 
extends over mortal kind under the name of love. 

Sanfiero drew himself up, with a deep breath, 
and stepped back. 

The audience, perceiving that he had really 
finished, broke into the usual applause, while they 
prepared to return to the conversation which had 
been suspended for the music. In the constant 
chase after the new, so many of the sweet old 
songs fall into disuse, that perhaps not more than 
half a dozen had recognized the strains, and those 
who, perchance, knew the words, probably failed 
to catch their significance, or, if they did, were too 


120 


FURONO AM ATI. 


polite to comment upon the audacity of the musi- 
cian within the hearing of their hostess ; at any 
rate no warning reached the ears of Mrs. Ward- 
Hastings, triumphant in her consciousness of hav- 
ing outwitted the lovers. 

Sanfiero, however, gave himself no concern 
in regard to the surmises of others. To him 
it was important only that his message should 
be conveyed to the object of his desire, for he knew 
full well that no other opportunity might be given 
him to plead his cause. And so much had depended 
upon what might have proved a futile hope, Isabel’s 
knowledge of the little German “ Lied.” Sanfiero 
had trusted to chance, knowing that her musical 
education had been exceptionally thorough, and that 
she had studied for several years under German 
Professors at Stuttgart ; not unlikely, therefore 
that she should be familiar with this little gem of 
Schumann’s. A t any rate he had played his last 
trump, and won ! 

Radiant with the certainty of his triumph he 
mingled with the brilliant crowd, and Isabel, con- 


FURONO AM ATI. 


121 


fused and trembling with the consciousness of her 
surrender, watched his movements furtively. After 
a little he approached her, as she stood slightly 
withdrawn from the guests. 

“ Drop your fan,” he whispered. Isabel obeyed. 
Sanfiero picked up the fan and when he handed it 
back to her, a slip of paper lay in its folds. He 
spoke a few sentence bowing deeply over her hand 
in apparent leave-taking, then he walked through 
the throng, head erect and with flashing eyes, 
saluting an acquaintance here and there as he made 
his way to the doors. 

Mrs. Ward-Has tings drew a breath of relief when 
she saw him depart, and cast a searching glance 
upon her daughter. But she could not see the 
expression of her face, for Isabel seemed engaged 
in readjusting a knot of ribbon on her dress, which 
evidently absorbed her attention, and presently 
she walked toward a dressing-room carrying the 
ribbon in her hand. 

Her mother smiled a smile of triumph. She had 
prevented the lovers from prolonged conversation 


122 


FUR ON O AM ATI. 


by many small strategies, and now there was no 
further cause for vigilance, and she could devote 
herself to her own amusement. To her the musical 
message had remained unintelligible. 

Half an hour later a small figure, muffled in a 
long, dark cloak, slipped from the portal of the 
mansion and entered a carriage that stood in wait- 
ing. When its doors closed behind her, Isabel 
sank trembling into the arms of her lover, half 
fainting under his passionate caresses. 

And so these two young souls, whom the world 
had set apart, went about working their own un- 
doing. One with the selfish self-confidence of the 
man, to make or mar a woman’s happiness ; the 
other with the sublime self-sacrifice of a woman’s 
heart, leaving all, to do his bidding. 

What are rank, position, wealth, when weighed 
in the balance against the imperative demand of 
love ? Man and woman are they, to whom its 
mandate goes forth ; man and woman, as God 
created them, and the dictates of the world and 
civilization are as naught against the arguments 
of human passion. 


FURONO AM ATI. 


123 


There was, of course, a great outcry of society, 
insulted by the daring stratagem of the young 
musician, when the elopement of the heiress with 
her low-born lover was noised abroad. It was as 
if he were stripped all at once of all the attributes 
of genius, which had so long compelled their hom- 
age. 

Some nodded their heads with the relish of their 
fulfilled prognostications; for, had they not pre- 
dicted that no good could come of it ? It was a 
foolish thing — they had always thought it — to drag 
these upstarts from the gutter into the drawing- 
rooms. No wonder that they forgot their place ! 

A few were more charitable — not having been 
injured in their own pride or affections and were 
for forgiving the culprit and reinstating him into 
favor. But they were frowned down ; for it would 
never do to set so bad an example to the damsels 
to whom talent and personal beauty were but too 
often a disturbing element of rivalry, weighed 
against social distinction and the substantial induce- 
ments of a large bank-account. 


124 


FUBONO AMATI. 


And so they aired their opinions and their 
aggrieved sensibilities for awhile until a newer 
diversion — a dancer from a second-rate music-hall 
— quickly claimed their condescension, and, being 
a woman, this new fad was not so likely to cause 
a social upheaval ; even if she did make the lan- 
guid circulation of their male world course a little 
faster for a time. They were too — well, let us call 
it “ wise,” to sacrifice more than a fraction of them- 
selves and their love in her service. 

But the woman whose final verdict was of the 
weightiest importance to the culpable couple, said 
little in her wrath, and utterly refused to listen to 
overtures of reconciliation. Nay, Mrs. Ward-Has- 
tings virtually disowned her daughter, and turned 
a deaf ear to Isabel’s mingled appeals for forgive- 
ness and assurances of perfect bliss in her union 
with her lover-husband. 

The mother departed alone on her European tour ; 
and so she and the rest of the world went their 
ways, leaving the newly-wedded lovers to the un- 
raveling of their fate. 


FUliONO AM ATI, 


125 


III. 

“ And so the lovers lived happily forever after.” 
Ay, so the weavers of romance would have us 
think, when they have succeeded in guiding their 
hero and heroine safely through the intricacies of 
the proverbially rough path of true love to the cul- 
mination of their desires. And it is much safer to 
leave them there — for the romancers. 

But stern reality compels us all to unravel the 
mysteries of our destiny mesh by mesh ; to live 
our lives day by day ; and as they follow each 
other, from light to darkness, and from darkness 
to light, to face each day anew, the consequences 
of our doing. 

And after dreaming comes waking ! 

Isabel and Sanfiero dreamed their dream of love’s 
supreme delight ; and to the woman first, came 


126 


FUBONO AM ATI, 


the dawn that disturbed their slumbers. Sanfiero 
had carried his bride to an abode prepared for her, 
in a suite of furnished apartments. He had done 
his best, according to his limited understanding 
and resources, to surround her in her new home 
with some of the pomp and circumstance to which 
she was accustomed ; and to his simple tastes their 
dwelling-place appeared replete with luxury and 
even splendor. 

His perceptions, not trained to critical discrimi- 
nation, were not offended by cotton plush and 
Nottingham lace, and a chromo seemed quite as 
satisfactory a representation of nature as the finest 
oil painting. 

In the beginning Isabel regarded all this with the 
indifference of perfect content with her choice. 
The situation had its charm of novelty, and, above 
all, the unrestricted companionship of the man 
with whom she was . passionately in love, out- 
weighed all disadvantages of her changed circum- 
stances. 

They went out to gay little dinners and suppers. 


FURONO AMATL 


127 


to out-of-the-way restaurants, where artists of all 
kinds were wont to congregate, and there they met 
many of Sanfiero’s acquaintances, among whom he 
was an object of admiration and envy on account of 
his gift of genius, and also because of the social suc- 
cess which he had enjoyed. They welcomed the 
young bride in their free and easy Bohemian fash- 
ion and made much of her as the fair young wife 
of a rising genius, without much reference to her 
runaway marriage, of which they almost unani- 
mously approved. 

Only Christopher, her husband’s oldest and most 
faithful friend, betrayed in her presence an un- 
wonted shyness, a sort of deprecatory appeal, which 
Isabel could not understand. But she took a 
liking to the simple, rather awkward German from 
the first, and treated him with a charming mixture 
of encouraging condescension and trustfulness that 
touched Christopher deeply. Still he held himself 
in the background as much as possible, feeling far 
more keenly the incongruity of their relations 
than she did herself. 


128 


FURONO AMATI. 


He could not free himself from anxious fore- 
bodings in regard to the young Italian’s choice. 
Isabel was very fair and sweet; and she played with 
her newly found rdle as the queen of her husband’s 
world, with evident enjoyment ; but she was pre- 
eminently a woman of fashion, and if she should 
weary of caresses and the homage Sanfiero lavished 
upon her, would she be able to reciprocate the en- 
during, all-absorbing devotion he cherished for 
her? Was it probable that this little patrician, 
reared among a host of artificial but none the less 
potent prejudices, could find lasting contentment 
in a sphere that must be foreign to her in every 
particular ? 

For the present she adored her young artist- 
husband, and Sanfiero had many of the attributes 
that would capture a romantic maiden’s fancy. 
He was handsome, with a dark southern beauty of 
coloring, and in his manner was a tinge of inscru- 
table reserve toward strangers that enchanced his 
fascination for those with whom he chose to be 
familiar. He was great as a musician, young as he 


FUEONO AMATL 


129 


was ; a master of the most beguiling instrument 
ever fashioned by human hands. He was passion- 
ate as a lover, devoted as a husband, but 

Isabel had not discovered any “but” as yet. It 
dawned upon her very slowly, by very imperceptible 
stages, that there might be flaws in his perfection, 
according to the standard by which she had been 
taught to judge. But Christopher was in the 
habit of looking far ahead ; he held to the misgiv- 
ings that had assailed him, when first Sanfiero had 
imparted to him the particulars of his love, and it 
was with painful solicitude that he watched the 
young couple. 

Between lovers of unequal station, he philoso- 
phized, it must ever be a question of the dominant 
power to uplift or to drag down. And this tender, 
yielding little woman had so far betrayed more of 
the weakness than of the strength of love. 

Sanfiero lived in a trance of utmost bliss. All 

the passion, all the ardent devotion of his fiery 

temperament lay prostrate at the feet of the woman 

who, for his sake, had abandoned mother, friends, 
9 


130 


FUEONO AMATL 


riches, and all that wealth can yield. His triumph 
was a delirium, a state of mental excitement in 
which all reasoning was impossible. According 
to his conception they had obtained all that love 
and life can bestow, and all that remained was to 
continue in this state of beatitude. That before 
them was the decisive battle still to be fought in 
which they must perish unless they could rise vic- 
toriously above almost overwhelming difficulties, 
never occurred to him any more than to his young 
wife in their transport of happiness. 

They kept apart from the places where Isabel’s 
former associates were to be met. Society had 
put on its severest frown and continued to prove 
its displeasure to the daring youth of genius who 
had carried one of its most brilliant ornaments into 
the intimacy of his private existence — ^his private 
existence of which it had no desire to knoAV any- 
thing. And its wrath made itself manifest by the 
absolute unconcern with which the young musician 
was permitted to relapse into social obscurity. 

Sanfiero paid no regard to his temporary eclipse. 


FUBOKO AM ATI. 


131 


He felt within him the power to conquer the recog- 
nition of the world through the greatness of his 
art. Alas, if he had but first learned the art of 
conquering his own passions ! 

It has been said that to Isabel first came the 
dawn of disenchantment, not that she became con- 
scious of it all at once. Gradually, very gradually, 
crept into her mind a misgiving that she had not 
found Sanfiero all her imagination had painted 
him. 

In his personality her young husband bore a 
greater charm than most of the perfumed dandies 
of her former circle, but his natural grace of bear- 
ing was marred occasionally by a certain roughness, 
or rather a lack of polish, that jarred upon her sen- 
sibilities. Isabel had been reared among men well- 
trained in refined deportment, by no means intrin- 
sically superior to the simplicity of honest man- 
hood, it is true, but none the less soothing, nay, 
almost indispensable to those accustomed to it from 
their earliest childhood. 

In the rapturous moments of ecstatic love it was 


132 


FURONO AMATL 


natural for these two lovers of unequal birth, to 
forget the incongruities of their habits and educa- 
tion, but during the hours and days of familiar in- 
tercourse, amid the prosaic requirements of every- 
day life, Isabel could not fail to become aware of 
the wide chasm of social inequality that yawned 
between her and her husband ; a chasm which only 
a strong and noble love could bridge ; not love 
born of the senses which craves only possession of 
its idol, but love unselfish in its bestowal, ready to 
condone faults, to overlook shortcomings, to hold 
out a hand of fellowship in mutual endeavor of up- 
lifting one another above conventional creeds, to 
the harmony of perfect understanding. It was 
upon this, the “ perfect love that casteth out fear ” 
that the future happiness of Sanfiero and his bride 
depended. 

That the woman was first to start from her 
dream, was but natural under the circumstances ; 
for it was Isabel, whose conditions of life were 
most unfavorably changed. Sanfiero felt in the 
very privilege of intimate association with her, the 


FURONO AM ATI. 


133 


glamour and reflection of a higher social atmosphere 
than that in which he was accustomed to live. In 
her very personality Isabel brought him the indefi- 
nite perfume of a more delicate and refined ex- 
istence. 

Her dainty manner and fastidious tastes charmed 
his senses like a delightful poem ; but he could not 
realize that her very fastidiousness might cause her 
to detect faults ; to feel repelled by careless habits, 
whose very existence within himself he did not 
realize, and which he would have regarded as 
trifles. But is not our whole life colored by such 
trifles ? 

Sanfiero was f'^ugal by natural taste and early 
training. His everyday clothing was plain and of 
common cut. Though scrupulously clean in his 
person — thanks to the gospel of soap and water in- 
culcated under the guardianship of the German 
carpenter — he was ignorant of the many minute re- 
quirements which appear indispensable to the toilet 
of a gentleman of leisure and cultured tastes. 

Furthermore, the young girl had been rigidly 


134 


FURONO AM ATI. 


trained to social observances upon which the youth 
had ever looked with a democratic contempt as 
superfluous and artificial. To his young wife it 
might have been impossible to point out just where 
he fell short, but she felt in his manner the want 
of that indefinite air, which comes only from long 
familiarity with refined surroundings, and which 
is commonly supposed to distinguish the gentle- 
man. 

Isabel had ever met him in public clothed in 
the nimbus of his art, but she discovered with 
dismay, that in some way he lacked in his individ- 
uality the superiority with which, in addition to 
his musical attributes, her imagination had invested 
him. 

Though not of an especially intellectual type, 
she had been accustomed to conversation on sub- 
jects of the most varied import, but in this she 
found so little responsiveness in her young hus- 
band, that she was at a loss, sometimes, for topics of 
mutual interest unless it were on his ever dominant 
love for music where they never failed to come to 


FUBONO AMATL 


135 


a harmonious understanding. From the first, his 
greatest fascination for her had lain in his music, 
and still all fears, all doubts, all tremors of disen- 
chantment would die away when he touched the 
violin. 

When they were alone she constantly impor- 
tuned him to play for her, as with an insatiable 
desire to renew the old intoxication of mind pro- 
duced by the strains of his instrument ; and Sanfiero, 
rejoicing in her sympathy with his beloved art, 
failed to perceive the underlying craving of his 
young wife to keep alive her passionate admiration 
for himself. 

“ Play for me ! ” she urged when they returned 
from their restaurant dinner, where, after the 
novelty had worn off, Isabel’s sensitive taste often 
shrank from the vulgarity of her surroundings. 

“ Play for me ! ” she demanded, when in her 
unpretentious rooms the contrast of their pinch- 
beck adornments with her former home forced it- 
self upon her observation. 

“ Play for me ! ” she begged, when her young 


136 


FUBONO AM ATI, 


husband would fain have spent the hours in lavish- 
ing caresses on his bride. 

Under the magic tones of his violin, while lean- 
ing against his knee, her cheeks would flush with 
pleasure, and with rekindled ardor she would re- 
ward him with the kisses he demanded. But at 
other times she would shrink from his touch when he 
suddenly drew her to his breast ; and once when he 
had been to call upon Christopher in their old lodg- 
ings, she actually repulsed him with a shudder. 

“ You smell of bad tobacco ; and I don’t know 
what else ! ” she expostulated, defending herself. 

But to Sanfiero came with the pain of a sudden 
knife-thrust, the first piercing doubt ! Isabel, his 
wife, had pushed him from her — she was growing 
weary of his love ! He could no longer make 
her respond to him at all times ! 

Good God, the pain of that first, lurid flash of 
discovery ! He followed her every movement, after 
that, with a fearful watchfulness. He grew timid 
of approaching her, for fear of seeing her shrink 
from him again. He could see that he could 


FUBONO AMATL 


137 


move her with his music, as of old, that she never 
failed to yield and soften toward him under its in- 
fluence, but a sort of hitter jealousy poisoned even 
his love for music, and he disdained to use it as a 
decoy. 

“ It is the music she loves ; not myself ! ” he 
mused angrily; and he eyed his violin with jealous 
dislike. 

Once he besought her in a storm of passion, to 
tell him wherein he failed to satisfy her fancy ; but 
the young wife, frightened and embarrassed, evaded 
him. Isabel was what is called well-bred,” she 
could not tell her husband that she thought him 
“not a gentleman.” But she grew more and 
more subdued in spirits and would sit for hours 
listlessly by the window, watching the passers-by 
on the street, or dreaming over a book without 
ever turning its pages. 

She would not acknowledge even to herself, that 
she was desperately homesick, perhaps she did not 
know that this was at the bottom of her heartache. 
But Sanfiero divined it, and could find no better 


138 


FURONO AMA TL 


explanation for this most natural manifestation on 
her part, than that she was tired of him and re- 
gretted the step she had taken. 

What she needed was soothing and cheering, 
and the staunch support of a man stronger and 
wiser than herself. How could he give her this 
support, he, this hot-headed son of the South ? 

Sanfiero was strong only in his emotions, and 
wise — not at all. He could not read the impulses of 
her heart, it was like a sealed hook to him, and the 
only key to open it seemed to be his bow. 

In despair he would take refuge in his music, and 
when the dulcet plaintive sounds sank into Isabel’s 
understanding she would throw herself into his 
arms dissolved in tears, and beg him to forgive her 
and to have patience ; and poor Sanfiero, half 
broken-hearted, shut his violin in its case and left 
the house. He could not have done worse ! 

Although he visited them but rarely and never 
stayed long, Christopher soon discovered for him- 
self that something was amiss, and his fears took 
new alarm. He watched anxiously for the least 


FURONO AM ATI. 


189 


hint from Sanfiero, upon which he might open the 
subject and give him the benefit of his counsel. 

But Sanfiero with his characteristic reserve, with- 
drew within himself with his troubles, and rather 
than seek his old friend’s advice, he seemed to 
shrink from his companionship. 

“ They are too much alone,” cogitated the Ger- 
man. “ They are both moping for want of the excite- 
ment of the life Avhich came to such a sudden end 
for them. ’Tis human nature ! ” 

And on this ground he approached the young 
Italian at last. 

“ Atwater, of the Metropolitan, asked after you 
the other day,” he said. “ They are looking for 
some one to fill a course of afternoon concerts. 
What do you mean to do ? It is not well that you 
permit the world to forget you ! ” 

But Sanfiero shrugged his shoulders for an an- 
swer. 

“ But you have more responsibilities now,” urged 
his friend. “ One must make money to live well, 
and your dainty little bird requires a gilded cage.” 


140 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


“ Why do you call it a cage ? ” Sanfiero 
faced him with an outburst of his old tem- 
per. “ Can love be caged ? If she did not love 
me, what good would it do me to ornament the 
home that would still be but a prison, ‘ a cage,’ as 
you call it! ” 

Christopher arose and stood before him, fixing 
his clear blue eyes upon the excited face of the 
young Italian. 

“Tut, tut ! What folly is this, my lad ? ” he 
said sternly, though kindly. “ Tell me what 
greater proof can you require of your wife’s entire 
love for you, than that she has forsaken all that 
was hers, to come to you ? ” 

“ What if she were sorry for it ? ” muttered San- 
fiero, casting down his eyes. 

“ I do not believe it I You must not expect her 
to go about with constant protestations, and if she 
looks dull at times, it is because you keep her shut 
up too much. You cannot ask of her to live on 
love alone. Too much sweet cloys the taste I ” 


FURONO AM ATI. 


141 


“ It is not myself, it is the music she loves ! ” 
Sanfiero shot out impulsively. 

‘‘ Of course she does,” assented the German- 
cheerfully, disregarding the first part of the 
remark, and you are fortunate in being able to 
give her the best ; but there are other things be- 
sides that you must give her. Take her to the 
places she has been accustomed to. What have 
you to be ashamed of ? Show her older friends 
that you know how to take care of her, and do not 
let her mope at home ! It will cost money, and 
therefore, I say, come forward and take your place 
in the ranks of art ! Remember that you have a 
position to make, for her as well as for yourself. 
You will not find it too difficult, with your talent, 
only come out boldly ! You must work, work for 
money and fame that she may be proud of the 
husband of her choice.” 

“ Ah, Christopher ! ” The poor fellow gave 
way to his confidence in his old friend, “ that is 
what I fear ! That she will not he proud, nay, 
that she will be ashamed, that she will regret ” 


142 


FURONO AM ATI. 


His voice failed him, but he looked at Christopher 
with eyes so full of unspeakable misery that it 
went to the German’s heart like a stab. 

“ Surely you are tormenting yourself without 
cause, my lad,” he said soothingly, dropping into 
the paternal manner of the old days. “ Why 
should such thoughts enter your mind ? One can- 
not always live in a state of exaltation, and if 
your wife shows herself a little weary of love-mak- 
ing, give her a trifle less of it, and she will soon 
ask for more. Follow my advice; take up your 
work in earnest and she will rejoice in your suc- 
cess.” 

Sanfiero shook his head obstinately. “ I want 
her to love me for myself,” he persisted. 

“ Love cannot be coerced, it must be won,” pro- 
tested Christopher, then added with impatience : 
“ But what nonsense is this ! You did win her 
love ; it is surely yours ! It is for you to cherish 
and keep alive the affection she so freely gave you. 
You must study to please her. A woman, like a 
violin, is a fine instrument, and it requires careful 


FURONO AMATL 


143 


and constant practice to extract its sweetness, and 

if you should fail ” He stopped himself in the 

midst of his simile, aghast at the thought, whither it 
was leading him. Too late ! Sanfiero also, felt its 
application. 

“ Ay, she is an Amati ! ” he faltered, his face 
twitching with agony. “ God help me, if I fail to 
touch the right chords ! ” 

He would listen to no further arguments or com- 
fort, refusing to yield to Christopher’s urging to 
take up his profession anew. 

“ I could not play in public now,” he answered 
with decision. “ I am not equal to it I ” And so 
he took his leave. 

A fatality of circumstances seemed to pursue 
him : on his way home within a block of where he 
dwelt, he came upon a man, whose very existence 
he had forgotten until then. It was the banker, 
who had formerly sued for Isabel’s hand, the in- 
timate friend of her mother. He passed the m usician 
without apparent recognition, absorbed in his own 
thoughts. Sanfiero stood still and looked after 
him. A new, dull throb was added to his anguish. 


144 


FURONO AM ATI. 


Where had the man been ? What was he doing 
in this unfashionable neighborhood ? Could it be 
that he knew where Isabel lived, and that he had 
come to seek her out? What if he had found her 
already ? If he had spoken to her ? W ould she 
have told him that she was not happy ? 

He turned toward his home, almost running, in 
his eagerness to verify his surmises. 

Jealousy in its grosser form did not pollute his 
mind. He never for an instant feared that Isabel 
would bestow upon his former rival, a feeling 
warmer than friendly regard. But it was the ter- 
ror that seized him, that this man might succeed 
in enticing her back to her mother’s home, where 
she would be forever lost to him, her husband, who 
had carried her thence in his arms. A furious 
hatied of the banker arose in him ; and a reproach- 
ful mistrust of his young wife, that she might have 
complained to him. 

It needed but a glance at Isabel, and he knew 
that his fears were in a measure justified. The 
enemy had been there ! For why else should he 


FURONO AMATL 


145 


find Isabel standing in the middle of the room, 
palpitating with agitation, her cheeks glowing, her 
eyes still glistening with the moisture of recently 
shed tears ? 

Sanfiero groaned. He went to a sofa and threw 
himself on its cushions, face downward. In a mo- 
ment he felt his wife beside him. She flung her 
arms around him tenderly ; but it was he who 
recoiled now. 

“ What is the matter, Sanfiero ? Are you ill ? ” 

He shook his head. 

“ Then why do you act so strangely ? I want 
so much to tell you something. You cannot guess 
who has been here ! ” 

How joyful was her tone ! It cut him to the 
quick. He pushed her from him, and sat up. 

“ I met him on the street,” he said between his 
teeth, looking at her with great, reproachful eyes. 

She looked puzzled and a little offended. 

“ I cannot understand why you behave so singu- 
larly ; I was so glad, and thought you would be 
pleased also.” 


146 


FURONO AM ATI, 


“ Why should I be pleased Is his condescen- 
sion, or whatever it is, such a joyful event ? ” 

“ Oh, but can’t you see vhat it may lead to ? 
Mamma sent him ! She has just returned from 
Europe, and she may forgive us, and then all will 
be well ! ” 

“Will it ? ” questioned Sanfiero sadly, regarding 
her mournfully as she stood transfigured with the 
hope with which he could not sympathize. 

“ O Isabel ! Do not let them rob me of you ! ” 
he burst out, seizing her in his arms with the pas- 
sion of despair. “ I shall go mad if you leave me ! 
It will kill me ! ” 

“ You hurt me, Sanfiero,” she gasped in his con- 
vulsive grip. “ Oh ! how rough you are ! ” 

He let her go at once, devouring her with burn- 
ing eyes. At last his pale, despairing face touched 
her with pity. 

“You poor, foolish boy!” she murmured draw- 
ing near again. “ How can you talk so ? Of course 
I shall never leave you ; never, never! but, oh, I 
have longed so to see mamma once more ! You 


FUBONO AMATI. 


147 


must not forget that she is my mother, and that I 
was never separated from her before I married you. 
And I think she wants me quite as much as I want 
her ! Only she will not say so yet. She sent Mr. 
Barbour to see if I were happy, he said, and, of 
course, I told him that I am happy indeed, because 
I love you, but that I wanted to see mamma very 
much. And when I do, I shall plead for you and 
convince her that you are such a dear noble-hearted 
fellow — if you are a bear sometimes — that she can- 
not help forgiving you ; and loving you besides ! ” 

She chattered on excitedly and happily, in- 
terspersing her talk with tender little pats and 
caresses. How the event had changed her, from 
the pale, despondent woman of the last weeks to a 
radiant, hopeful young creature ! 

Sanfiero listened to her* in silence, but she could 
awaken in his heart no echo of her sanguine 
hopes ; only dull, foreboding throbs of pain. 

Ay, they could make her sing with joy, while 
he could only draw sighs from her ! he thought 
bitterly. 


148 


FURONO AM ATI. 


She flitted about her rooms in eager impatience 
during the following days ; changing and re- 
arranging the furniture and ornaments ; sending 
Sanfiero for flowers and fruit, and evidently ex- 
pecting, momentarily, to hear her mother’s knock 
at the door. 

They were days of silent torture to her husband. 
If she were so eager merely to see her mother, 
how easy it would be to persuade her to return to 
her altogether, he reflected ; and he felt powerless 
to prevent her. He could not bear to watch her, 
as the days went by and the mother gave no fur- 
ther sign. The joy died out of Isabel’s face, and 
doubt and anxiety lurked in her troubled eyes. 

“ She may come to-morrow,” she would say with 
a deep sigh, after a day spent in futile waiting. 

“ She may come to-day,” she would reiterate 
hopefully on the next morning, and set to work to 
make her home as attractive as possible. 

Her lover-husband went nearly mad between his 
fears and his love, and his sorrow at her disap- 
pointment. 


FURONO AM ATI. 


U\) 


He could find no words to comfort her. Once, 
in sheer desperation he suggested : “ Why do 

you not go to her ? ” 

But the young wife lifted her head proudly, 
though sadly. 

“No, she must seek me in my husband’s home ! ” 

Sanfiero felt in her words an assurance of her 
fealty, yet he dared not rely on them. His fears 
scourged him like a thousand demons, until he 
fled from the presence of the woman whose love 
seemed to be slipping away from him, while he 
felt utterly at a loss how to reclaim it. 

Isabel could not fathom his feelings. She had 
never sounded the depth of his all-absorbing love 
for her, and saw only that he avoided her of late, 
without realizing that he was moved by a delicate 
fear of intruding his own claims upon her, in her 
distress at the continued delay in the coming of 
her mother. 

The conflicting causes of his suffering — pitying 
her keen disappointment and yet dreading the re- 
sult of a meeting between Isabel and her mother 


150 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


— she could not comprehend, because it nevei* en- 
tered her mind that he should really believe that 
she would leave him under any circumstances. 
In her child-like, hopeful way, she saw the future 
bright before them ; for all that seemed wanting 
to her happiness now was her mother’s forgiveness 
and blessing — all the rest would follow. Sanfiero 
restored to social favor, would soon lose the tri- 
fling gaucheries that marred his deportment. 

She sat alone in her room, one afternoon ; wait- 
ing, as usual, for the footsteps that would bring 
her mother to her. More than a week had elapsed 
since the banker’s call, and, at times, Isabel’s im- 
patience grew into a fever. Its morbid glow was 
now upon her tender cheek as she sat wistfully 
watching the street from the window, the golden 
head bowed upon the little white hand. 

She was so young, so childlike still, in her 
appearance. Her simple white gown, dainty and 
lace trimmed, enhanced the look of purity that 
was suffused in her whole aspect. It was most 
pitiful to see her sit and watch there. Sanflero, 


FURONO AM ATI. 


151 


unable to support the sight, had left her with a 
lingering kiss, and had gone out, — but fate knows 
no pity ! 

At last the suspense grew insupportable to her 
also, and she arose and moved about the room. 
Then under a sudden impulse, she fetched her 
cloak and bonnet ; she would just get a breath of 
fresh air, and be back in a moment. But wait ; 
she must pen a line to her husband, in case he 
should return and miss her. This would do : 

“ My dearest Boy : 

“ If you do not find me when you return, do 
not be vexed. Mother has ” 

Hark ! some one knocked ! Isabel jumped with 
a quick throb of the heart to open the door. 

Mother ” 

The word rose to her lips and died there. Alas, 
it was only the servant with a letter; a cruel, 
fateful letter, but Isabel looked upon the familiar 
writing of the address with glad anticipation. 
She pressed it to her lips; for was it not the 
writing of her mother ? This would explain why 


152 


FUEONO AM ATI, 


she had so long delayed her coming. Perhaps she 
had been ill. 

Isabel settled herself in her arm-chair, smoothing 
out the paper with caressing touches. 

“My dear daughter;” — How delightful it 
looked ! Isabel repeated it aloud : “ My dear 
daughter : ” 

Perhaps but a conventional beginning, yet how 
sweet the words fell into her homesick heart I 
Yet could a mother say less ? 

Isabel read on, and a strange look came into her 
face ; wonder, apprehension, anger. These were 
not the tender words of reconciliation and pardon 
— a pardon which would include her husband as 
well — which she had expected. Words of censure 
they were, as directed to an offender, who had 
reaped the fruit of her wrong-doing and was ready 
to repent ; and what promise of forgiveness was 
held out, was on conditions painful to her love and 
pride. 

Petrified with dismay, Isabel read the letter 
many times over before she fully comprehended it, 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


153 


“ Mr. Barbour tells me that he found you in 
tawdry lodgings, unfit to live in, for a lady of your 
station.” 

Isabel looked about her with wide open eyes. 
A blush of mortification spreading over her face. 
So that was how her home had impressed him ! 
The blush deepened as her glance flew critically 
from object to object. Never before had she felt 
so keenly the difference between them and the 
luxury of her former surroundings ; and that this 
man had observed and condemned them before her 
mother, stung her with bitter humiliation. Alas ! 
what availed it that these very chairs and hangings 
had been the witnesses of the bliss of her first 
wedded days ? Isabel could only look upon them, 
henceforth, with shrinking distaste ! 

Not even to herself, would she acknowledge, 
however, such an effect. 

“ Surely he has exaggerated,” she murmured. 
“ True, the furnishing is not costly or beautiful, 
but certainly, everything is quite respectable ! ” 
What next ? 


154 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


“ As I foretold, he reports that you are miser- 
able in looks and spirit, and that you deeply regret 
the mortification you caused me, by your head- 
strong and disgraceful conduct.” 

This was terrible ! What could she have said, 
that he should have gathered such an admission 
from her words ? She had been greatly excited, 
moved beyond self-control, by the unexpected 
visit from a near friend of her mother, and her 
homesick heart had surprised her into a confession 
of yearning for her, but she could not believe that 
she had given the man cause to think that she 
was not entirely happy in the love of her husband, 
or that she regretted having married him. And 
worse and worse : 

“ It was only to be expected that your eyes 
would soon be opened to the irreconcilable dis- 
parity existing between you and this low, vulgar 
fiddler.” 

How Isabel’s face burned at the insult ! How 
dared she call him that ! No, there is a limit even 
to the privilege of an incensed parent, and her 


FUEONO AM ATI. 


155 


mother should beg her and Sanfiero’s pardon for 
that ! 

In a similar strain the letter continued, pointing 
out that only utter wretchedness could be the re- 
sult, if Isabel remained with her husband ; and coun- 
seling her to leave him at once and return to her 
maternal home. Only by such a course could she 
hope for her mother’s pardon, and reinstatement 
in her favor. 

“ Once with your natural protectors again,” said 
the letter, “ it will be easy for you to get a divorce ; 
for the fellow has little means, and will probably 
be glad to relinquish his claims upon you for a 
good, round sum of money.” 

Oh merciful Heaven ! What language to direct 
to his wife ! Offer Sanfiero money to release her ? 
How his splendid eyes would flash with scorn at 
such a suggestion ! How her mother erred in the 
estimation of his character. She was vulgar in her 
valuation of the man’s worth ; yet what could 
Isabel do to convince her of the falsity of her judg- 


156 


FURONO AM ATI. 


ment? She would not even dare to mention to 
Sanfiero the proposition made to her. 

Isabel crumpled the letter in her hand and let 
it fall. All her hopeful plans lay shattered and 
she felt crushed and helpless in the dilemma in 
which her mother’s demand had placed her. Leave 
Sanfiero ? Her beloved ; her heart’s idol ? What 
would life be, without him ? 

For the first time, with tenderest longing, her 
love swept over her in overwhelming force — love 
for Sanfiero the man.^ not only the musician ! 

What if all the world were against him ? She 
would cling to him the closer ! It was true, they 
had not been entirely happy lately; there were 
many discrepancies that had made themselves felt ; 
but they would doubtless adjust themselves if San- 
fiero were but given the opportunity of associating 
intimately with the class to which she belonged. 
If only her mother could be brought to give him 
the trial, he would speedily become as one of them. 

The young wife paced up and down the room 
in nervous agitation. ‘‘ If he would only come 


FURONO AM ATI. 


157 


home,” she thought, longing to consult with him. 
He had left her too much alone, of late, she pro- 
tested mentally, was he growing tired of her? 
W as there some truth in her mother’s prediction that 
no good could come of their union ? A growing 
dread of the future crept into her mind. Would 
they, as the days went by, become more and more 
estranged? Was, indeed, the difference in their 
birth and training an insurmountable barrier to 
perfect understanding ? And the happiness, the 
perfect bliss of the past, was it only an ephemeral 
illusion ? How could they drag out the rest of 
their lives, in vain regret, side by side, if their love 
should die ? No, no, no ! A thousand times better 
would be death than such a life ! 

Isabel began to feel frightened at her own 
thoughts. She tried to pray : “ Dear God ! 

Rather let us die together now, than suffer such 
cruel estrangement ! ” 

How would her prayer be answered? 

The hours had slipped by and day faded into 
twilight. Sanfiero came not. 


158 


FURONO AM ATI. 


Worn out with fatigue and strong emotions, 
Isabel flung herself on the sofa, bursting into 
hysterical tears, until she sobbed herself to sleep, 
while the darkness closed in around her. 

Sanfiero returned; heavy of heart, haggard of 
eye ; with a dull, throbbing ache in his brain. 
He had spent the afternoon wandering about the 
streets, and felt worn out with sorrow. The dark- 
ness of the room touched him unpleasantly as he 
entered, but he heard Isabel’s heavy breathing and 
knew that she had fallen asleep. Softly he struck 
a light. 

His first glance fell upon her cloak and hat. She 
had been out then? On the table lay the sheet of 
note-paper addressed to him. He read the lines. 
No, she had only meant to go, and changed her 
mind ; evidently. He wondered why. 

He tiptoed to the lounge where she lay, and 
looked at her tenderly. 

“ Poor little girl, tired out with vain waiting for 
her mother ! ” he thought. Her sweet face was 
flushed and troubled, her breathing was still pain- 


FUnONO AMATI. 


159 


ful and irregular. He looked closer — yes, those 
were tear stains upon her cheeks ; she must 
have been crying bitterly. Crying ! His Isabel, 
his darling, his idol! The poor fellow’s face 
twitched. 

Perhaps she had been lonely. He wished he 
had stayed at home to keep her company; but she 
had not seemed to want him. Could it be that her 
mother had been there — a sudden dread seized 
him — and that their interview had not been all 
that Isabel had hoped ? Just then he espied the 
crumpled letter upon the floor ; he pounced upon 
it — would that explain ? 

There is an unwritten law, it is said, Sanfiero, 
that to read another’s letter, without permission, 
must always bring evil consequences I 

Sanfiero would probably have scorned the super- 
stition, had he ever heard of it ; and even the law 
of etiquette, the sacredness of private correspon- 
dence had no weight with him. The letter was 
open ; it was addressed to his wife. Why should 
he not be at liberty to read it? 


IGO 


FUEONO AM ATI. 


Would Heaven but give her the chance to wake 
and let him read with her arms about him ! 

Isabel slept. 

Cruel and deadly the words sank into his over- 
wrought brain until it reeled. From their tone he 
took it for granted that Isabel, his wife had indeed 
expressed her repentance of her marriage to him ; 
had poured into the ears of her visitor a tale of 
disappointment and contrition. 

Poor Isabel ! He cannot read her loyalty in her 
sleeping face, still wet with the tell-tale tears ! 

Sanfiero looked down upon her, his features dis- 
torted with the anguish of his soul. He ground 
his teeth to keep himself from groaning aloud. 

Ah, he had failed to win her love ! He had torn 
her from her mother’s bosom and enthroned her as 
his heart’s idol, but he lacked the skill to play 
upon her heartstrings so that they would vibrate 
in answering accord ! And if she did not love 
him, how could he ask her to stay with him ? 
Would it not be cruel to force her? Ought he 
not to let her go back to the home she had deserted 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


161 


for his sake ? And was it not plain that Isabel so 
wished ? When she had penned that note to him, 
had she not meant to follow her mother’s command 
and leave him forever ? Her heart had failed her, 
perhaps, and she had waited to bid him good-bye ! 

He flung up his hands, and let the cruel letter 
drop. The cry of his breaking heart rose to his 
lips — alas, that it did not ring out aloud and wake 
Isabel from her deadly sleep ! 

Sanfiero felt sick and faint. He walked to the 
table to pour out a glass of water. Isabel had 
arranged some flowers and fruit there, for her 
mother’s refreshment, and the table looked fresh 
and inviting ; the crystal dishes and the little 
pearl-handled fruit knives glittered. Everything 
bore the impress of her dainty taste. 

Oh, how could he give her up ; the light of his 
life, nay, the. very spring of life to him now ? 

He had to steady himself against the table ; the 

very room seemed to turn and Whirl about him. 

What could he say to her, if she should wake now, 

and ask him to bid her farewell, proclaiming her- 
11 


162 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


self ready to leave liim desolate ? What could life 
be when she had gone ? Life without Isabel ! It 
would be hell ! hell ! 

Hotly seethed the fierce passions of his nature ; 
up surged the blood from his heart to his brain. 
No ! no ! no ! She should not leave him ; she was 
his ! His alone, in life or death ! 

With a cry like that of an animal at bay, he 
seized one of the knives among the fruit, and with 
the quickness of a panther leaped back and flung 
himself upon his sleeping wife. 

Not a sound escaped her lips ; only a scarcely 
audible sigh, and a quick flutter of the eyelids ; 
and Isabel lay still as if her slumber were undis- 
turbed, while the red life blood welled up among 
the lace upon her bosom. 

Sanfiero, with bloodshot, sightless eyes, fell upon 
the floor beside her. 


All that day, Christopher had felt strangely 
uneasy. He had seen nothing of Sanfiero for over 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


163 


a week. His frame of mind at their last meeting, 
as well as the unfortunate turn their conversation 
had taken, filled him with a nervous dread unusual 
to him. 

“ I must look the boy up,” he muttered, getting 
himself into his Sunday coat, in deference to the 
bride. 

He knocked repeatedly at the door of Sanfiero’s 
apartment — the servant having sent him up as 
usual, saying both his friends were at home. He 
could see the light shine through the keyhole, but 
not a sound was audible within. Perhaps they 
had gone into the next room, he thought, trying 
to reason away the singular fear that oppressed 
him. 

He knocked louder ; still no answer. He de- 
scended again, calling the maid. 

“I am sure they are in,” she said. “I took the 
lady a letter, and Mr. Sanfiero came home a couple 
of hours ago.” 

She went up with him, and after a knock, opened 
the door of the parlor. 


164 


FUBONO AM ATI. 


“ A caller, Missus ” — with a shriek she turned, 
and fled past Christopher, down the stairs. What 
had she seen ? 

Christopher pressed forward. In the blazing 
gaslight, he saw Sanfiero stretched on the floor, 
and on the sofa lay Isabel, her white gown satu- 
rated with dark red blood. 

“For God’s sake! Sanfiero, what has hap- 
pened ? ” 

At his cry Sanfiero raised himself, staggering to 
his feet, and stood swaying back and forth ; meet- 
ing Christopher’s horror-stricken eyes with a 
vacant smile. 

“ You were right, Christopher,” he stammered, 
brokenly, “ Furono Amati ; but I could not make 
them sing for me, so I have killed them both I ” 

He clutched convulsively at his breast, wdth both 
hands, staggered backward and fell upon the corpse 
of his wife. Christopher sprang forward to catch 
him, and lifted him up in his strong arms : he was 
dead ! 


THE END. 





•I' 



» • 


r-.. 


• V 1*^-; * >. 


v* -V : 


. I 

t ^ 


; - 


# 

« *#• 

. 1 - 





^ *^.,^^’ 7 .* 7 -. 

• '^— . ^ •- '* •» .y ••^ ' 

■ s ^ " ‘'7-** ''- " ' ‘ V 


k 

'S 


_l - - • . > 


V. 'k. 
t - i 


- ' ■■ ^ !>-■ . V‘--r 

. _ • . % - ’ y ■ ' <, »<.«.^j . 





*7. 




• ^ 'r '^i^, 


;> 


t . t ^ 

' r. ■ 




■7 " . / -*^; . 


•<1> 

% . rv-v*. 


J/ 


i c 



t 


I •■ 

r- ^ 




•w. •• 

^ ' *- - 


. Z' 
/> 


'/ - 


J 


• 


A V - 


'-) ' *4 ^ 


;v- * 

t 'Jr- '•f'r^'^ 


r , • 

. 


’• *• 

% 


* 


• '‘-4' 




^ - x*" /* 

V - •- . y: A* ^ r 

■ ' '' 

■ ^ 7 * - ‘T"' 


. 


•1 


« 


7^ 


rf* 

7 


IKSf - ■■ 

■; -^' \ '/ J- 


V IL*' 



» .;^ 


y . ,-iy 




i--: ^ > 




' ^ 


» ♦ 


3 : J 


•'# 


7 

I - 


t y 


.V' 


-^. •-i ^ ■ . 4 '-ft? ’ 

A V* " 
* , 








;3 


. ^' “ - ’ 7 . 

^ ^ y g<^ •_ - >1 -< ' 




■: <»■? 


•f4;v*'’';v: , rc'-.i:,. ■■^>7 -:. 

’-'fe'': ; ^.' '.' ' *'• ■- ' '•■- " -■;--- 


ir^;.. 


A > 


' • .* -c: 


f - V V'- 
■ f - • >- . A ; ; 




' •■ ' : ■'^ ~ ^ "L . ^ti, 

- - . ■ , : ; f AifiS 
■' -, -- .. 







*'V: ■■ 
^ ►«.* 


^ 4 

X'' 






■ 5 ::*. - V 






**• 4* , V- i •’ V •» ♦ ■ *• 

: • ' \ '/ ' T - •-• 1- -* * • w 

"!■ . _• --^ 


> 7 • 




-...ft; 



t 


. ‘a t* ‘ 

. •*' 

< 




/i ’ 


; <• ✓ • - 


t -- ■ 1 ' » ' 

r • 




-y .:. - v ' „ 

• ■< J • I* • • 

' ••* - JT' • • 


% ' 


'r> 


>i -r 




<*- 

5 .' ■ 

c'C 


• ' ■. 'il- 

■y- - 

'.j‘- '-. ..< . 


' 

4 ' 



-’^ -V r.< 




V ■n y -• 


"> .’i-i 


> 


5 ^ ^ 

«* i-T^ r 


«'• ' 
r 


' 


■- s • 


• -S 


r. 




. n 


* 



. /• 




• \r 

■ 


! f K * ' 


1 


• M 


• ^ 


• f 


> t . 






« t 

J 


^ . 


»« 


^ X 


V i 






“'V • • 

^ ‘it 




h . 




>T 


-vt 

■ V *4 ^ 

>*• J 

^ ^ * 

■i <■ 

. 


> f 


• 1 




Vy ; ^ • 


> X' 


fl 

4 


* - 


> ".X' 


- V- 


► - ,.” 

ff^-* k. • 


■l“ 

► « h 


V 

\ 




^ / I.' 


'^■0 


• i 


— ^ 




. V 

' • ~ 


r ^ '■• '■■ >f • sf 


* \ 


f ' 


* 

;iL 


'j~ 


<<^ « .• 


- •. ■ . 





- > 


■* . '->> - 
j‘ • . ‘^, ''' 

y ■» ■ * 


; b « 

V** 

-r-. •-/? ♦*• • 
■'T- 


r • 

••"A — ^ ^ 

•*>'• ' ■, - -• 

\ .f - _ # , 

• ^ ■* - * 

^ fc *. • • ^ 

. • v^, * . ' . ^ ' 


> 


-t ^ ^ .V-T 




c r»v; 
* ♦ 




*-* 





' sV'- • 


‘ - *• 
'•> V 


’•f. 


. t 


• > 

j> . r 








• ^ 


i. • -' 


r . 




^ • 

« 


,.. j >. 


V/.'f 


/w.--. 


- ■<■ 
j 


^ • > 


.< - 




-V. . 


rr •■'*-'■ V* '■•'X* 

■ ■ ' w r - v . -' •; %!;<■' ■ - 

— - vr*. • ' 

>.,>: •-' .% y/" V s_,' ; . : n 

x/* W •* > 

• ~ v ^ 













\ • 


» Vi 
> . V 


I 


-X 

V ' •, V 


. - 

-V ^4^' 




■^w 

” 1 . 


4 * 


J 


i : 


>• 


1 


4 




'fC 



% ?. 


V>- •- 






( 


• -V 


•■«'•' •T"'. 

x'i .*V rf. 

^ f .w ^ ■ r * 

^-■-. . .-\-_T i-i. . , ,- .. • r , 





y. 


-■ 1 *- 

• *x J 


7 . 


• ^ 


K 

t 


-4- 


« . 

r . 


A ‘ i 


V' 




J * > s«. 






- -x 




. w i- V ~ * / 


o 

:-- v-‘ Y! 


/ ’< 


r ■ ' t ‘ • ^ . T^*- •■- _ •j -* fc » V “V* 

u^v-s.. •>► .* * 

^ ^ r * ' A ^ ^ m 4ir ^ 



iraiSiiHMit' ■ . ‘/v •■ ^ « ' * , 


- 

H* 

•» 


\. 


% . 


^ i 


w •- I 


« -. ■ *>. 




A 






- ^ r- 

’v~ • 

'' ^X’v ; I- - ■ • * 


V ^ 


f, 

\ ♦ 


»• 


I *, . 

' 1 ' ■•' 

'* .- /■* >*>' 
/ • . ; • t 


'd'M 








« 

». • 

k\ 


; / 1 

.» • 


' -'-i ■ ^ ^ • A 


>. • . 


* \ 
• t r- 
.A 


>• ^4* ^ ■? 

' r- ' * '*. -r' C '■^’» 'A 

x\ - . ' ^ - 

• ■■' ■ * '"i‘ 

Vi 



s 


^ s « 


X .• 

'4 


A . 


.•t 






A 


^ •* mtr - } ^ 

^ - -.| ,/.: s - 

. - -CK^' ■ 


» ^ F*/|^ A 


^ .* 
w *; 


^ T 

, > 
4^ . 




• ^ . 





> 


•/ 


< B 


K’ 




i>k ,..>> 4 *< : 


A-' ^ 

< J '.-51 • V .. *^* 


/ < 






..4 


• ' >, V 


• p-* 




t T -V- ' 

' V. 7 

■ . .>S • ■■',-,vJ 


^ -l- 




?;\5 *v =??«. 4, ;": , ■ - 

'>■■■' "■•- •" ■ 


^ ^ ■- 


♦' - • . • . *7 •"-• 


/>. 


• ; 


«. ♦• 


• V 


4 

V 


» » 






v'.-L 




. 

.'»■ ■ :< ■ 

A ^ 

m 

, f 

\ ‘ 

/ 

, •» 

> • 

i 

t . , 

# 

* 

. 1 

'if' 


t 

• :•<*' 


• • C’ 

• .1 i 

f V 

» ' ■ ^ 

r .J ^ 

• * 1 . 

V 


» j- 

« « 


^ I 

„ V 


A, 

I 


/ 


•\ ’* * 

• ' -• >.V' 

► ’? -• -‘.V* 

:. :Y- 


V / ***? 




^s;: ^ \l 
<\ -w -L 




/ . 


V'! v 

. j' '• / 

* ^ .f. 

■ A'-^' wtl' 

^*l "'If, 

r ^ 

, # 


'••- • ■ ' / '-’V "y- 

■'•.■'■ -• ■•■ v' ^ 1 

r '• ■' ’ ■ V- ‘ .'• t ' ' .. 


^V- 




■^T< 


■#.' - .^ > . 


4 • ^ 




' *. , ^ »1 

f* 

/ ' ^ 


f 

V 




* « 


i*'- • - .e 


K' i < ; • 

• -• * . fit 


\ 


> " /I. ,.. 

"i V t * I 

^ ':y h'*f- ^ -r **^7, 

,*!'- * 


' ^ ■ ■ r ■’ V ' ' •'- . '■*.•-> '-V* ■ , .■•■*■ '. •<, v^ •- : -•, i® 

S.- ) ^ - ' *L, •% . N ;. V 1 ‘ * ' j < V 

. *'*.r' ;.A,.v. . ,-'. : v' ■ , -Je 

. WV'. >■ ■ ■■ • • ., . -J. ■ * .; . . '-5 

..- .-.V/ •Jvs-.vsay - vV^v',; -'a^ 




